


Heart of Gold

by KZ55



Series: Robes of Green [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Gen, Good Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley Friendship, Harry Potter & Pansy Parkinson friendship, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Hogwarts Inter-House Rivalries, No Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Past Tense, Ron Weasley & Hermione Granger Friendship, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-07-27 14:48:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 100,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20047804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KZ55/pseuds/KZ55
Summary: Harry Potter's in Slytherin, he's *hopefully* not going Dark, and he's a flawed but ultimately well-intentioned child.This series starts in third year and features a Harry who's very similar to his canon counterpart, except that he sometimes does things for his own greater good.No Dumbledore or Weasley bashing in here. Possible HHr and more for the future. On the flip side, Harry doesn't grovel to people like the Malfoys, nor does he get special treatment from Snape.In terms of pairings, there are hints at Harry/Pansy and the beginning of some Harmony, but the overall relationships are more likely to develop later on.This story starts during the Marge incident and eventually skips into Harry's time at Hogwarts.Crossposted to FFnet.





	1. Holly Nates

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing in the Harry Potter franchise, all such content belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal — but Harry Potter couldn't care less. He already had enough to deal with that summer, especially by having to put up with his 'aunt', Marjorie's, presence — which made even the other Dursleys exercise caution.

"Don't blame yourself for how the boy's turned out," Marge told Aunt Petunia one day, as the family of four, and Harry, were sitting at the table for lunch. "If something's rotten on the _inside_, there's nothing anyone can do about it." She took a lengthy sip of brandy, and sighed. "It's one of the basic rules of breeding. You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup."

Harry noticed that she kept on looking his way, as if hoping that he would lash out like a delinquent. But he knew that Marge was the battle, and that Hogsmeade was the war — and that only one could be won.

"So, Vernon," said Marge, "you never told me what this boy's father once did."

"He didn't do much — or anything, actually." Uncle Vernon shot a glance at Harry, who nodded in confirmation. "Unemployed, you see."

"And that," Marge said while pouring herself some brandy, "doesn't surprise me in the least. A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who couldn't be bothered to ..."

Harry stared at his plate in an effort to reminisce over his first year at Hogwarts. Truth be told, he was only partially interested in the whole 'Gringotts break-in' thing back then, and only because it might have happened while he and Hagrid were present at the bank.

"I'm going for a walk," Harry said, and Marge raised her brows.

"And we're supposed to just _let_ you do as you please?"

"Actually," said Uncle Vernon, "I think a bit of fresh air would be much needed, in his case. He wouldn't dare try anything out there, not with St Brutus's on his case."

"Are you sure?" Marge asked, frowning as she continued to glare at Harry. "What if he ends up mingling with that escaped prisoner — er, something-Black?"

Even Uncle Vernon wasn't stupid enough to believe that Harry would actively seek out an escaped maniac on the streets; so he nodded, and Harry made his way to the front door. Little did Harry even care for whoever this Sirius Black thug was; all that mattered was putting himself as far away from Marjorie Dursley as possible, and enjoying the fine, sunny afternoon in the process. There was nobody else walking around at this hour, strangely enough, so Harry enjoyed a peaceful stroll until he arrived at the near-empty play park — where a lone girl was seated on the spinning roundabout.

Something wasn't quite right here, and it almost seemed as if this random Muggle was on the lookout for someone. But, regardless, Harry decided to make contact with a polite greeting, to which the brunette slowed down her spin and locked her blue eyes onto Harry.

"About time you showed — er, I mean ... I'm Holly Nates." She looked a tad impatient, for some reason. "So, what's your story, Harry?"

"Nothing spe — wait, how do you know my name?"

Holly gasped. "Oh, I, um, heard it from one of your cousin's friends. They talk a lot of trash about you in the park." Then she climbed off the roundabout, reached into her rucksack on the ground, and withdrew two pairs of quad roller-skates. "Two for you, two for me. Now tell me about that funny scar on your head."

Who was this random girl? The only person whom Harry felt comfortable enough to discuss his scar with was Professor Dumbledore (and perhaps Hermione Granger, too). Harry wouldn't even consider getting himself assessed by the Ministry of Magic or St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, as he could only imagine the horrific experiments they would perform on someone infused with a portion of Lord Voldemort's powers. So when it came to dealing with a simple (but pleasant) Muggle, Harry resorted to telling that same lie which Aunt Petunia had used for years on end.

"This?" he asked, gesturing to his scar. "It's just something I got from the car crash that killed my parents when I was, like, a year old. Nothing special."

"Right," said Holly, crossing her arms and looking rather unconvinced. "So, somehow, something either sliced your head like that, or you hit your head in a lightning-bolt pattern back then. No offence."

Anyone else might've taken offence to the lack of empathy towards their tragic story, but Harry didn't care. It was all one big fat lie anyway, and he shrugged. "Ah, forget about it." And then he groaned upon seeing an unwanted face striding across the park. "Great. See that brat over there?"

"Yeah, he kinda looks like a rat."

"Piers Polkiss," said Harry, watching as Dudley's right-hand man came jogging towards the roundabout. "One of Dudley's most irritating friends. Wasn't so brave when a boa constrictor snapped at his heels a few years ago."

Holly sniggered; which was odd, considering that she didn't even ask any questions.

"Potter!" said Polkiss. "Who said you can make friends, huh? Dudley's gonna trip when he hears about this."

Harry was about to respond when Holly stepped forward, and narrowed her eyes in dislike. "Piss off, swine."

"Think I'm afraid of a girl? Why you hiding behind her, Potter?"

"There's a snake waiting for you in Brazil," said Harry, smiling while looking over Holly's shoulder. "Remember that day in the zoo?"

Polkiss paled. "Why d - don't you try saying that in front of the Dursleys, huh?" Then he looked at Holly. "This guy's a loser. We used to chase him and beat him up back in the day."

"I'd like to see you try that at my current school," Harry said, and he could swear that Holly was trying to suppress her smile. "Let's see how long you last until your trousers gets pulled down."

"What —"

"He's talking about a good ol' spanking," said Holly. "What are _you_ thinking of, huh?"

But Polkiss was done talking, and he rolled up his sleeves as if to start a fight — which Holly was already prepared for. She knelt to the ground, gathered a few stones in her hands, and flung each of them like bullets toward a shocked Polkiss, who fled with his hands over his head.

"Ha! Run, you filthy Mug — face!" Holly gestured a middle finger. "Yeah, you stupid mugface!"

Even Harry was taken aback by the unexpected ferocity of this random girl, on this random day, and he just stood there shaking his head. "Wow, that was great."

"Don't mention it," said Holly, swapping her sneakers for roller skates. "I hate idiots like that. They have no right to pick fights and then run at the first sign of getting whopped." She held out her hand to pass a rather well-fitted pair to Harry.

"I, um, can't quite skate."

"Neither could I; but hey, look at me now." Holly's skating demonstration made Harry fit on his pair in no time, and Holly then dumped his dirty shoes into her bag. "Right, let's practise some basics up and down the gravel. You first."

This Holly girl sure was incredibly friendly towards a stranger. But Harry wasn't about to pass up the only opportunity he'd had since ... forever to meet a Muggle around his age without Dudley's interference. So he swallowed his pride and attempted to work these four-wheeled wonders on his feet.

"See? It's not that hard," Holly said while giving a light bit of applause. "Maybe someday I'll bring out the blades. That's the real deal, you know."

Of course Harry knew, as he recalled one particularly memorable incident involving Dudley fitting on a pair — and falling face down in the dirt. "That's the one with the wheels in line, right?"

"Mm-hmm." And Holly watched as Harry practised skating a good few metres up and down the pathway, after which she offered to purchase some ice-creams at the nearest shop. "Let's go, already."

Times like these made Harry wish he'd converted some of his wizarding wealth to Pounds. But he said nothing while following Holly down the gravel pathway, and eventually onto the pavement.

"So, Harry, what school do you go to?"

It would be foolish, not to mention illegal, for Harry to tell the truth to a Muggle, so he responded by giving as vague an answer about St Brutus's as he could. And to his surprise, Harry heard Holly shriek with laughter beside him. She didn't seem to mind wandering about with a delinquent at all, which was quite heart-warming — if not suspicious.

No ordinary adolescent would be this calm and collected around a stranger known to be attending a facility like St Brutus's, but Harry decided against asking any questions. He kept silent and followed Holly down the road, until they reached a small shop — on their left — where Holly whipped out a pink purse and purchased two ice-cream wafers. "Here you go."

"Thanks."

It was decided that they would only open their treats once they were back at the roundabout, so Harry and Holly made haste down the pavements. Their feet (or rather, wheels) carried them for well over a kilometre until they returned to the playground, where they removed their skates and walked across the grass.

"Man," said Holly, looking around and shaking her head, "this place is way too neat to be normal. Like, honestly, the countryside is far better than this dump."

They walked until reaching the swings, where Harry started unwrapping his wafer. "You're from out of town?"

"Well, duh." Holly gave a slight snort of laughter. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be such a sad sod out here. I'd've kicked your cousin's arse by now."

Harry seriously doubted that, considering that Dudley had always been 'formidable in stature'. But, then again, Holly looked as if she'd throw a kick or two between the legs, and laugh about it. "So, um, what school do you go to?"

"A private boarding-school way up north," Holly said, and then she sighed as another one of Dudley's friends came brisk-walking across the park. "Great, another loser looking to interrupt our friendly time."

"Hey, Potter, I want that wafer —"

"You can have it when it's brown and in the toilet," Harry told the tall, lanky-looking boy (much to Holly's delight), and he bit off a quarter of his wafer in no time.

"Think you're funny, huh?" The boy (whose name Harry couldn't care to remember) took a step forward, as if to throw a punch, and that was when Holly put herself in front of Harry.

"Touch him, and you'll be sorry."

"Oh, please. What's a girl gonna do?" Dudley's friend took a step towards Holly, who suddenly gasped, grabbed Harry, and backed off. "Yeah, that's right — aaargh!"

And that was when the boy toppled backwards, as a bear-sized black dog sprinted across the park and tackled him from behind his left leg. The boy then picked himself up, saw the dog growling at him, and fled for his life while screaming in terror.

"That's ... q - quite a mean-looking dog, don't you think?" Holly asked, backtracking at a snail's pace while holding Harry's arm. "I think we should make a run for it."

There was something oddly familiar about this dog, although Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it. So he tossed his unwrapped wafer and watched as the dog leaped up and caught it in mid-air.

"_What?_ Why the hell did you do that?" Holly asked, gaping at Harry. "Now _you're _the one who's going to starve!"

But Harry just shrugged, and said, "It just sort of felt right, I guess. Poor thing looks like it's had one heck of a journey so far."

Then, to his surprise, the dog came up to him and sat down with its tail between its legs, and its ears pinned back against its head. Harry was no expert on dogs, but he could tell by how this one was looking at him that it was either anxious or sad — or both, perhaps.

"You don't think that wafer's making it sick, do you?" Harry asked, and Holly shrugged. But then the dog suddenly stood on all fours, barked in a cheerful manner, and exited the park.

"You'd swear it could, like, understand us or something," said Holly. "Hey! How about we go to your place? I'd love to meet your family."

That came out of nowhere, considering that Harry hardly even knew this girl. "You sure?" he asked. "They're not, well ... not the nicest people around."

"Who cares? Let's go!"

So they left the park in the opposite direction of the dog, and began talking about all sorts of (Muggle) things while walking down Magnolia Road — and eventually turning left into Magnolia Crescent.

"... I wanted to get a cat once," Holly said. "A cute little ginger one, I think, but Mo — 'Mum' never liked having pets in the house unless they were absolutely necessary ..."

They walked for minutes on end until turning right to head down an alley midway down Magnolia Crescent, where Holly stopped.

"What?" Harry asked.

"You don't just lead people down random alleys, you know."

"It's a shortcut to Wisteria Walk, which sort of makes our trip shorter —"

"I'm just pulling your leg, silly," said Holly, and she followed Harry down the alley until they stepped out into Wisteria Walk. Then they turned left, carried on down the pavement, and eventually took a right to head down Privet Drive until reaching number four.

"Right," Harry whispered to Holly as he knocked on the front door. "Don't make a scene or anything, OK?"

Both of them stepped back as the door opened to reveal Uncle Vernon, who — as usual — reckoned the neighbours were watching him from their windows as he spoke. "Thought you might be gone long —" He frowned upon seeing Holly. "And, er, who exactly is this?"

"She's a friend —"

Uncle Vernon then called the rest of the Dursleys to the door, where he introduced Harry's so-called 'friend'.

"Excuse me?" said Marge, standing with an empty wine-glass in her left hand. She surveyed Holly in a thoughtful manner before speaking in a surprisingly civil tone. "My dear, you ought to be choosing your 'friends' more carefully. This boy happens to be a delinquent left in the care of his hard-working relatives. Not to mention the fact that he attends St Brutus's Secure Centre for — a juvenile facility, basically."

"In other words," said Aunt Petunia, looking as stern as ever, "he's best left under our watchful eye, and without any associates."

It was a tremendous struggle to resist lashing out, but sacrifices had to be made in order to win the war. Perhaps, someday, Harry reckoned he might run into Holly Nates again; in which case he'd give her the full, proper story as much as possible.

"OK, sure," a surprisingly calm Holly said. "See you soon, Harry!"

"Not as long as he's staying here," said Aunt Petunia.

Well, that was it. Harry had little hope of ever running into Holly Nates again; but in the short time that he knew her, he could tell that she was someone with a good — if not feisty — heart. And although Harry reckoned he'd never see her again, their brief friendship gave him something new to think about whenever Marge went on one of her long-winded speeches again. And by mid-August, Uncle Vernon honoured his end of the deal by signing Harry's permission form at last.

All was well, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any inconsistencies with regards to my grammar, punctuation, and spacing, as I'm both rechecking old chapters as well as working on what's new.


	2. Beat the System

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I prefer to use the HP Lexicon's layout of the Great Hall and the ground floor, seeing as it's pretty much book canon anyway.

_Late September, 1993._

Harry had long since moved on from that brief, sunny afternoon in August and was currently reorganising his locker within Team Slytherin's changing room. The place looked exactly as it did when Harry was last in here with the boys: its black furniture was polished to a shine, its walls were as grey as ever, and the team's broomsticks were hanging level between their ornate lockers.

"What's with the frown?" Harry asked one of his best friends — the black-haired, bob-cut Pansy Parkinson — whose presence was most welcome on that cold, Monday afternoon.

Pansy's brows were creased in frustration, and her green eyes were fixed upon Harry's latest broomstick as she spoke. "You don't have to use that man's broom, you know, and neither do you have to train for Chaser. Screw Draco and his stick-up-the-arse daddy." She was referring to the fact that Harry was expected to make use of the Nimbus Two Thousand and One, which each of his teammates had also received as part of Lucius Malfoy's bribe last year. The one that landed Draco Malfoy a spot on the team.

"Yeah, well," — Harry shut his locker — "I've got enough crap to deal with already. Might as well let Malfoy take the blame if we ever get beaten to the Snitch someday."

There were two broomsticks hanging beside Harry's locker, both of which were gifted under less-than-noble circumstances. On the one hand, there was the bribe; and on the other hand, its predecessor (the Nimbus Two Thousand) was a begrudging 'gift' from Professor Snape back in Harry's first year. Harry later discovered that Professor Dumbledore played (and paid) a large role in convincing Snape to show that brief, microscopic display of kindness.

And that was when a thought suddenly occurred to Harry. One that he wasn't sure how he'd ever explain to Pansy's distant cousin, Marcus Flint, or most people in general.

"Let's get out of here," said Pansy, and they exited the changing room, turned left at the T-junction (with the entrance to the pitch being behind them), and brisk-walked down the team's tunnel leading out of the stadium. Both Harry and Pansy could see the vapours of their breath as they climbed the wet slope up to the castle, where Harry soon came across a familiar, grumpy face near the front doors.

"Hey, Shanks. Want a lift?" Harry asked, and Pansy snorted as a rain-soaked Crookshanks came trotting towards him. Crookshanks looked even grumpier than usual, so Harry whipped out his wand and cast a Hot-Air Charm on the soaked cat. "Better?"

Crookshanks meowed, and then purred as he arched his back.

"Don't mention it," Harry said. Then he sat in a squat and allowed Crookshanks to climb into his arms, after which something white came swooping down from above, landing on Harry's left shoulder.

"Ooooh, jealousy makes you nasty, doesn't it?" Pansy said while stroking Hedwig's back. "Don't worry, girl; it's almost time for you to go to France again."

At that, Hedwig looked down at Crookshanks and hooted as if to say 'I'm more useful than you', or so Harry thought. But he kept the peace by carrying both pets into the Entrance Hall, and up the marble staircase. "No arguing, all right?" Harry looked from a purring Crookshanks to a haughty Hedwig. "You two are not Ronald and Hermione."

"As if they even understand each other," said Pansy. "The pets, I mean."

There were two main ways of navigating the castle and its one hundred and forty-two staircases: you could either go for the ones comprising the Grand Staircase, or you could use the ones situated at various points along the floors. Either option came with its share of trick steps, as well as destinations that tended to change on a weekly basis, so Harry and Pansy chose to hurry up the Grand Staircase and exit at the fourth-floor landing.

Given that Hermione's cat stood out like a big, orange, squashed-faced little tiger, it came as little surprise when numerous heads turned Harry's way as he walked along the fourth-floor corridor. But Harry couldn't care less for their gossip, especially after the whole Heir of Slytherin thing last year.

"Opinions are like wands," he told Pansy. "Everyone's got one, but mine's the best."

"Yeah, sure. Keep dreaming."

They eventually climbed the steps leading up to the Owlery, which they entered though a door at the top of West Tower. Here, Harry fed Hedwig some treats before letting her take off to the perches above, after which he directed his attention to Crookshanks resting in his arms. "Sorry, little tiger, but we're not gonna make it in time for Potions if we take you all the way home."

It never ceased to amaze Harry how Crookshanks seemed to understand human speech (even though owls could do so, too). And the half-Kneazle then leaped out of Harry's arms, rubbed his head against Harry's shin (probably as if to say 'Thanks!'), and took off towards that one particular staircase in the fourth-floor corridor.

"Shit, we'd better leg it, gamekeeper-taxi-man!" Pansy said while checking her watch, and running alongside Harry down the corridor. Neither of them were slouches when it came to putting one foot in front of the other as quickly as possible, and they covered much ground — and many steps — before reaching the dungeons at last.

But Harry and Pansy weren't the only ones rushing to get to class on time, as they soon passed Ronald Weasley while brisk-walking down one of the dungeon's corridors.

"How's it going, Ronald?" Harry asked, and Ron frowned.

"I saw you walking with that ... that _monster_ in your arms earlier. Fluffy git acts all sweet and innocent, huh? Just like Hermione when she wants you to take her side."

"What nonsense —"

"He's got a point!" said Pansy, shaking with suppressed laughter outside the Potions classroom. "Granger totally throws on the charm for you at times. OK, OK. Serious face now."

"Wait, guys!" said that unmistakable voice of Sally-Anne Perks. She was a lively witch from Liverpool who often enjoyed teasing her blonde roommate, Daphne Greengrass, over the latter having been 'born and bred' in Wirral. And she was in such a rush now that her long, usually sleek brown-hair looked a tad unkempt at the moment. "Whew! Talk about legging it, huh?"

There was no time to talk as the group of four made their way into the classroom, which was surprisingly Snape-free at the moment.

"... thought it was Professor Snape," said Draco Malfoy, seated right in the centre of the so-called 'Slytherin section' of the room. "What was I saying? Oh yes, I can't tell if that's your cauldron or toilet pot, Longbottom."

"Maybe it's both?" Theodore Nott asked, causing Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Blaise Zabini to add their own little jibes as well.

"C'mon," Pansy whispered to Harry, leading him towards their usual desk on the left side of the classroom. "No sense in getting worked up over this."

While Harry, Pansy, and Sally-Anne made their way towards their seats (Sally-Anne's being with Daphne), Ron went on the verbal attack against Draco. "How's that arm feeling, huh? Take off that stupid, fake bandage already."

"Wish that overgrown chicken could've shaken you off like a flea in mid-air, Weasel," said Draco, clearly envious over Ron having had his moment in the spotlight back then.

"You're just jealous," Seamus Finnigan said from within the so-called 'Gryffindor section'. "Man up, git; it's been, what, a few weeks now?"

"And why would a Malfoy be jealous of _him_?" Draco nodded in the direction of Ron. "At least _my_ family wouldn't waste precious prize-money on — oh, wait, we're not poor enough to need that in the first place."

Before Ron could respond, he was caught off guard by Snape entering the room and — as expected — deducting points from the Gryffindors only.

"But —"

"You've got ten seconds to take your seat before I hand out detention, Weasley."

And so today's lesson comprised the Wideye Potion, which Snape wasted no time in using as an insult towards a certain half of his class. "Take notes, and be sure to brew it up at Gryffindor Tower, where it's most needed —"

Having seen and heard enough crap so far today, Harry raised his hand and said, "Was that really necessary, Professor? We're barely into the start of our new term."

"Quiet."

"Harry's correct, Professor," said Hermione, who was sitting beside Ron at the far right of the class. "Can we please, um, focus on our coursework instead?"

"An excellent suggestion, Miss Granger." Snape's expression, and tone his of voice, belied his words. "I'm sure you and Potter would be well up for discussing my curriculum — in detention this evening."

"Great job, silly," Pansy whispered to Harry, who had to work hard to suppress his grin.

_Detention with Hermione? Hell yeah!_

Soon it was time to brew, and Harry busied himself with following instructions to the last letter. He glanced at his textbook, followed Snape's tips from the board, and got on with the task at hand. Every so often, Harry made eye contact with Pansy as she pushed on with her work, too, while Snape went around doing his usual inspections.

Although by no means an O-grade student, Pansy's efforts earned her a slight smile from the Potions master. Then it was Harry's turn to be inspected, and he brewed sufficiently enough to be left uninsulted by the man who had just recently placed him in detention. This left Harry free to turn around and observe Snape's commentary on the rest of the Slytherins.

"A fair effort, Davis, although a bit heavy on the stir. Greengrass, that was some fortunate timing on your final steps. Perks ... a fair effort. Bulstrode, your crushing could do with some improvement." Snape moved to inspect Draco's gang (who performed reasonably fine) before entering 'Gryffindor territory'. "If you are trying to replicate the aftermath of a bad meal, Finnigan, this is passable. Otherwise, a point from Gryffindor for such an uninspired attempt in my classroom." He vanished whatever gunk was solidifying in Finnigan's cauldron, as well as doing the same for Dean Thomas right beside him.

And so it went on with Snape moving towards the rest of the Gryffindors.

"Sufficient, but I'll be taking eight points from Gryffindor for what was clearly a joint effort," Snape told Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Fay Dunbar (a pretty, dark-haired girl), and Eloise Midgen (a cute girl whose ginger hair was often styled in pigtails) at their four cauldrons. Next up was the boy with short, ash-blond hair — Roger Malone — who narrowly avoided a points-deduction due to his 'barely passable' brew, and then it was Ron and Neville who ended up being berated for their 'unconscious' efforts. Last but not least was Hermione earning herself little more than silence from Snape.

When the bell finally rang, everyone packed their bags in a hurry — and filed out the classroom. Nothing much happened throughout the rest of the day until that evening, at dinner, when Harry passed by his roommates sitting at their end of Slytherin table (nearest the doors).

"That was just dumb, Potter, sticking up for the Lions like that," said Nott, and then he froze upon seeing a few reflections in his goblet of juice. It was some of the big boys — Slytherin's Beaters, Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole; as well as their Chaser and Captain, Marcus Flint — just walking by. The group of burly, short-haired boys took their sweet time in passing Nott's group before returning to their usual spot — near the centre of the house table. It was no secret that Flint sometimes viewed Harry as a younger brother, especially considering that Flint was (in his words) 'stuck with a bratty little sister' at home.

"We're just trying to warn you before it's too late," Draco said. "One of these days, Granger's going to ditch you and go full-steam ahead with her own Mudblood ambitions, leaving you behind in humiliation."

That was when a girl with long, dark-brown hair, and a rather kind face finally spoke up. It was the fifth-year prefect, Yasmin Shafiq, who had been one of the first older Slytherins to develop a soft spot for Harry since day one. "Keep that talk to your dormitory," she said, narrowing her blue eyes. "Enough is enough."

"Yeah, listen to her before she takes you home, and buries you in the desert," said the other fifth-year prefect, Adrian Pucey, although he meant no harm with his words. He often hung out with Yasmin and had been on very good terms with her for as long as Harry knew. "In other words, shut it, Malfoy."

"You're not even on the team anymore," Draco said with regards to Pucey, although keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard.

Moving on, Harry did his usual visit to the youngsters of his house — and the first-years beamed in delight as their resident celebrity sat among them, and asked, "So what's your best and worst classes so far?"

"I hate Transfiguration; McGonagall is so mean."

"Potions and Flying are the best!"

"Professor Lupin's OK as well."

"Astronomy wears you down after awhile. Can't wait to ditch it someday."

They spoke for over fifteen minutes until Harry had emptied his plate. And with his belly full, and kindness shown towards the newest members of his house — Harry got up, and later met with Pansy in the dungeons corridor, outside their common room. His plan for tonight was relatively simple: smuggle in Pansy's wand to use as a backup once Mr Filch had confiscated Harry's and Hermione's ones. Sure it might not be as effective as his holly one, but Harry had already used Pansy's wand in the past — and any wand was better than going in like a Muggle.

"No Squib's touching my wand!" said Pansy. "Hide it somewhere before Filch does a pat-down."

Pansy's words were proven to be correct that night; so before meeting up with Mr Filch in the third-floor corridor, Harry stashed away Pansy's wand, as well as a roll of parchment, a quill, and a full ink-bottle behind a suit of armour nearby (which, he swore, had creaked and clanked with a wheezy laugh then). And as luck would have it, that was rather close to the two classrooms that Harry and Hermione were ordered to clean within the next two hours.

"All right," Harry said, once Filch had left with their wands. "I've got a nice little surprise for you tonight."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep. Be back in about five minutes or so ..."

"Where are you —" Hermione stood staring in bewilderment as Harry crept off down the darkened, torch-lit corridor. And when he later came back with his stashed equipment in hand, she gasped in surprise. "You can't just go around using other people's wands, and what's with the stationery?"

"A busy" — _and pretty_, Harry thought, although he kept that part to himself — "girl like you should prioritise her detention time. Just chill, and do some homework instead."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was seeing. "And you're going to clean both of these classrooms by yourself?"

"With magic, yeah."

So Harry spent a fraction of his detention getting 'reacquainted' with Pansy's wand, after which he got to work in using a few spells to speed up the cleaning process. Hermione could say whatever she wanted, and could glare however she liked; but as the night moved on, Harry's efforts spared both of them the trouble of having to do things the Squib way.

"Just throw some of Filch's products on the floor, and get rid of them somehow," he said, after having finished up with their first classroom. "That'll make it look like we actually used them."

But Hermione was so engrossed in her essay that she wasn't even listening.

"Er, never mind. I'll just do it myself," Harry said, and then he almost tip-toed past Hermione (who was sitting at the front desk as usual) and started pouring out some chemicals on the ground. "OK, now I really need your help, Hermione."

"With what?" She looked up from her writing, slightly annoyed. "I thought you said you had everything 'under control'?"

"Yeah, well," — Harry scratched the back of his hair — "even if I was using my own wand, I doubt my Vanishing skills could come anywhere close to yours. Basically, I suck — and you don't."

"Don't say that," said Hermione, although she couldn't resist grinning at the compliment. "You don't even need Transfiguration, specifically, to vanish simple liquid — even if they are chemicals."

"_Tergeo_, perhaps?"

"I can't believe you're even asking, considering how decent you are in Charms."

Truth be told, Harry was looking for any excuse to talk to Hermione these days, especially as she seemed to be following an _unbelievably_ packed timetable. But then he decided against being too much of a nuisance, and carried on putting the ebony wand in his hands to good use. Perhaps it was best to simply give Hermione her space and to allow her to get through what was probably the first of many essays that night.


	3. Harry's Favour

October was well underway by now, with countless students preferring the cosiness of their common rooms to the freezing temperatures outside; countless students except, perhaps, Slytherin's star Seeker.

So what if the Dementors and Sirius Black were the main topics of discussion these days? Harry had other things on his mind as he once again stood pondering in the school's broomshed. Just how was he to hand over his Nimbus Two Thousand without attracting the ire of his fellow Slytherins, especially Snape? There was always the option of purchasing a brand new broom and delivering it anonymously to Ginny, but Harry reckoned that might be a tad overkill. No, the best option was to just say 'screw it' and gift Harry's own Two Thousand to the promising little Seeker. Was it illegal to do so? No. Did the broom belong to anyone else but Harry? No. It became Harry's property the moment Severus Snape chose to bring his then-reserve Seeker up to scratch with the rest of the team back in 1991.

How Harry had ended up being the youngest Seeker in a century was part coincidence and part luck, in his opinion. In the end, however, he wasn't allowed to play until beating Terence Higgs at least thrice to the Golden Snitch in practice, and it took Harry a good few months before he'd actually accumulated that total. Harry was then given his first-team start in Slytherin's match against Ravenclaw, which took place in early '92.

But that was old history, and Harry was more concerned with making sure that both Ginny and himself would have a decent, competitive match at the start of their season. He was also hoping that the pleasant surprise of getting a state-of-the-art broom (which Ginny surely wouldn't be accustomed to) would dampen the traumatic memories of last year. It was probably the next best thing Harry could do for her besides murdering the present-day-Voldemort. Now _that_ was something which Harry just couldn't see himself doing yet, despite the Dark Lord being nothing more than an angry spirit hiding like a coward somewhere.

Minutes turned to nearly an hour as Harry gave both of his brooms a test-fly around the empty stadium, before returning to the shed. Then, by sheer coincidence probably, he heard a slight gasp as Ginny entered the small, wooden room. She just stood there staring wide-eyed at the boy who'd saved her from the Chamber of Secrets last year.

"Morning," Harry said, acting as cool and casual as possible while freezing his arse off in this shed. "Nice weather, huh?"

Ginny said nothing, and Harry wondered whether she was frozen from shock or from the weather itself. Or did she get an indirect look at a Basilisk's eyes somehow? Oh well, Harry leaned against the wall (which he soon regretted, seeing as bits of ice were trickling down the back of his Quidditch robes) and gave Ginny all the time she needed to finally regain the ability of speech.

"Um, wh-what are you doing here, Harry?"

"I got two brooms, one of which needs to be given away. Want a Nimbus Two Thousand?"

"WHAT?" Ginny narrowed her eyes and glanced around in suspicion. "Are Fred and George hiding around somewhere? They once gave me a toilet seat from school as a gift, you know."

Feeling no reason to hesitate, Harry walked up to the younger girl and placed his hands on her shoulders. "If anyone asks, just say that I sold it to you at a really cheap discount. The broom, that is; not the toilet seat."

"Seriously, what idiot's gonna believe that?" Ginny paused for a bit while giving her unexpected good fortune some consideration. Then she looked at Harry and smiled. "You just screwed yourself out of the Quidditch Cup this year, Snake."

"Prove it, then, Lion."

"It's 'Lioness', for your information." And so they rushed out into the cold, autumn air to start (or restart, in Harry's case) their warm-up drills on foot. "Whoops, you're slow as a snail," Ginny said, having gone all out to outpace her rival Seeker. She was doing quite well, both on the ground and once she'd mounted Harry's broom and kicked off.

At some point, Harry hopped onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One and kicked off to join the reddish blur in the air. "Not bad, but I've been doing this longer than you!"

"Er, actually," — Ginny swerved to stop right beside Harry, her scarlet robes whipping about as she did so — "I've been flying longer than you, Harry. Or didn't you know that I used to 'borrow' my brothers' brooms since I was six?"

"So, you were a shed-breaker?"

"I was poor, OK! Still am!"

"And I was raised by hateful Muggles, OK. Still am." Green and scarlet zipped through the air as both Seekers dazzled each other with their skills, keeping no more than a few metres between them while flying laps around the pitch. "Broom tag time!" Harry declared, flying sideways and right up to his startled rival. Then he reached out and tapped Ginny on her back, causing her to speed up in hot pursuit.

"You can't outfly me; nobody can!" Ginny banked left and chased Harry across the stadium. From end to end, they flew in circles until Harry finally got tapped on his back. "You're it, Slytherin."

There was no denying that Ginny had some real skills, or was it raw talent? Either way, she basically matched Harry move for move throughout their game of tag. When he rolled, so did she; when he climbed, so did she; and when Harry dove, so did Ginny attempt to follow him in the manoeuvre ... until he realised that things were getting out of hand. It was by sheer luck that Harry ceased his trick-dive and stopped Ginny metres from the ground, before she could crash.

"Wow! Who taught you that move?"

Harry shrugged. "Intuition. You're not too bad either; but, then again, at least you had the opportunity of growing up with a magical family. That's literally a flying head-start." He sped ahead, tapped Ginny on her back, and carried on with their little contest until executing a sudden loop-the-loop manoeuvre right over her.

"Oh, that's quite good," Ginny said, and then she slowed down to watch Harry weave through the goal posts. "Yeah, show me all your tricks before our game, hahaha!"

Harry watched as Ginny partially replicated his aerial techniques, and it wasn't long until their broom-tag game resumed until ending six-ten in favour of Harry. Still, six was a notably high score considering that Ginny had just received her new broom (which was still inferior to Harry's model anyway).

And then he saw it; something which took Harry by complete surprise in the empty Gryffindor stands.

"What are you staring at?" Ginny asked, hovering towards Harry as his gaze remained fixed at the stands. "Um, hello?"

"Remind me what pets are allowed at school, again?"

"Er, cats, toads, owls, and a few others. Why?"

Harry gestured towards the vacant stands far ahead of him. "I just saw a big black dog over there — Hey! Come back!" He blinked as Ginny took off to inspect the stands ... to no avail.

"Nope, nothing. You sure you weren't mistaken or, I dunno, daydreaming?"

"I've seen that thing before ... Could it be the Grim?" Harry muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"The what?"

"Divination stuff, never mind."

The look of bewilderment on Ginny's face spoke volumes, and she soon followed up by changing the topic. "So, how did _you_ get so good on a broom anyway? Only one year of flying can't make someone this good."

Harry felt a surge of pride in knowing that he had inherited his father's talents on a broom. And the best part was that even Snape had to do what was best for his team two years ago, regardless of his past issues. "Dad's talent passed down, yep."

Both Seekers landed upon the field and dismounted their Nimbuses as Ginny spoke. "That's what my teammates all say, uh-huh, but I'm still beating you in our match. And then next year, the year after, and all the way until you're maybe Head Boy someday."

It felt great to hear such a compliment, even though Harry guessed that he would probably end up having to compete with hard-workers such as Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, Wayne Hopkins, Theodore Nott, Ernie Macmillan, etc. for that highly coveted badge. But that was still far to come, and so the present day moved on, with Harry eventually returning to his common room in the evening.

The long, low underground room with its rough stone ceiling and greenish lamps was abuzz with activity. Dozens of Slytherins sat upon ornate, high-backed chairs at whatever table was available, while others occupied the few black couches around the room . The lavish fireplace simmered with flames, which provided both heat and a relaxing glow of orange for the common room's residents.

As Harry made his way around the room, he saw his fellow housemates doing all manner of random things — from writing letters to studying to playing Exploding Snap or wizard's chess.

"Who wants to play a game of Exploding Snape?" asked a giggling first-year girl, although she ended up being fiercely reprimanded by a seventh-year prefect. "Sorry, won't happen again."

Elsewhere, Prefect Yasmin was engaged in another chess match with her fellow classmate, Adrian Pucey. "Watch this, kids," she said to the crowd of youngsters gathered around their table. "This is what happens when your opponent relies too heavily on their queen ..."

Pucey had no choice but to lose his queen as part of his only valid, and final, move. "Checkmate again? Damn."

His Quidditch teammates were hanging around nearby, and they made their amusement well heard by cackling at Pucey's loss. "Stick to Quidditch, man; it's all you're good at," said Flint.

Naturally, it was Yasmin who came to Pucey's defence. "Bold words, Flint. Now how about you give me a shot for Chaser? Or are you still scared of getting girls on your team?"

"Quidditch is for men, sorry." Flint's statement caused more than a few heads to turn his way, but little did the Captain actually care. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say. But the Holyhead Harpies are just a bunch of sexist losers anyway."

"Look who's talking!" said some random fourth-year student.

"They've got the whole country, and beyond, to choose from," replied Flint, still frowning at this topic, "while I've only got this house to work with. So look at that and tell me who's worse, huh?"

There was no point arguing the same thing year in, year out — and many students therefore dropped the topic and returned to their activities this evening. Among said activities, one particular group of girls were drawing both disappointment and curious stares at their choice of fun for tonight.

"Who cares?" Tracey Davis asked, flicking a lock of her short, layered hair as she continued her game of Muggle playing-cards with Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, as well as Millicent, at their table.

"What are you people playing over there anyway?" a second-year boy asked, to which Tracey described what was basically the Muggle card game called 'Arsehole' (for lack of a better name given by her).

"But you see, such language shall not be used in the presence of youngsters." Tracey glanced at Astoria while speaking. "So, our ranks are as follows, in descending order: Minister, Professor, Prefect, Muggle. Now let's deal."

Harry would join in if he wasn't suddenly called over to a couch, in one corner of the room, by Pansy. And judging by the familiar, posh blue envelope in her hand — he knew exactly what this was all about. "Cousin-dearest again?"

"Good to see you haven't forgotten." Pansy ripped open one of her letters which usually came around twice or thrice a year, courtesy of her cousin over in France. "No need to stare so much. Here, you can read it once I've finished, OK?"

Preferring to let Pansy bask in her moment of international communication, Harry waited patiently until she passed him the letter, which read:

_To my dearest cousin,_

_I hear you've got Dementors patrolling around your school, Little P. Is that really a good idea? Those suckers can turn on you in a heartbeat, if they even have one at all. Steer clear of them and keep your head low until Sirius Black is caught. But I think you've heard this a thousand times, eh?_

_Anyway, moving on to the boring topic of schoolwork ..._

_Do yourself a favour and start focusing hard on Transfiguration now already. It was probably all fun and games before, right? Well, things are going to start getting hard as hell from here on out. I'd also like to hear how things are going in Slytherin. Write back as much as possible. Really, everything's super quiet and boring over here at the moment._

_PS: I heard a rumour going across our staff about something happening next year. No idea what the hell that means._

_Love you lots and lots, like jelly tots,_

_From your best cousin_

_Alyssa K. Parkinson_

_Sixth-Year, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic._

"OK," Harry said, returning the letter to Pansy. "Wonder what that next-year bit means?"

Pansy shrugged. "We'll just have to wait and see, I guess."

They sat contemplating what in the world could happen in their fourth-year. But, try as they might, neither Harry nor Pansy could think up anything truly interesting. And they soon spent the remainder of their evening sitting at a table where Sally-Anne busied herself with her own letter. "Mum's on my case again," she said, jotting down whatever she could. "So, Harry, got anything good to tell me so I can write it down?"

Harry paused for thought. He knew that Sally-Anne's six-year-old brother was sitting at home hoping to hear anything interesting from Hogwarts. "Tell him about Gryffindor's new Seeker, and how it's gonna be a Nimbus showdown in our first match of the season."

"What?" asked Pansy. "No way the mini-Weasel could afford — Wait a minute."

"Oh, er, I 'sold' my Nimbus Two Thousand — 'dirt cheap' — to Ginny Weasley."

Sally-Anne dropped her quill and gaped at Harry (which Pansy also did). "Are you making a joke, or what?"

For now, it was up to Harry to create the best of excuses throughout this evening — especially once Marcus Flint got word of this Nimbus situation. Fortunately, Harry's intricate lie about selling the broom in order to make Slytherin's 'inevitable' victory even better seemed to have worked. The downside was, of course, that all the pressure of the match was now on Harry himself. Well, even more pressure than a Seeker would normally face.

But, the biggest of all downsides was that Harry would somehow have to explain his rash decision to his Head of House ... a worthy sacrifice, though, considering the joy that was shown by Ginny Weasley today. Nobody deserved to suffer at the hands of Tom Riddle, especially not someone who'd just started school.


	4. Fun and Games

"Flippen hell, next year's gonna be _that_ year," Daphne Greengrass said, on the second Wednesday of October. She was sitting beside Harry in one of the courtyards while discussing a matter of personal importance to her. "Remember how Pansy said all the pure-blood families are kind of related? Well, it turns out my dad has a distant Squib somewhere on his side."

"And?"

"_And_ that Squib's daughter's gonna be starting at Hogwarts next year. She's an annoying brat, honestly. I just hope nobody sniffs out my relation to her."

Harry stood up and stretched out. They were about to head for Defence Against the Dark Arts next. "Yeah, but what's that got to do with you and the other families?"

"She's a _Prewett_," said Daphne. "Mafalda Prewett."

"Isn't that —"

"Mrs. Weasley's family, yep."

Minutes later, they rejoined their fellow housemates at Classroom 3C, where a beaming Professor Lupin awaited them at his desk. "Come inside and grab your seats. How's everyone doing?"

"Excuse me, Professor?" Draco Malfoy called from the back of the class, as the third-year Slytherins suddenly noticed something odd. Very odd. "What's the meaning of this?"

Lupin smiled as he replied, "Of what?"

Harry noticed it too, and so did Pansy and her gang as well — of which Millicent spoke up. "Um, wasn't this supposed to be our joint slot with the Gryffindors in our year? You know, third year?"

"Ah yes, well ..." Lupin looked as if he was about to have a real good laugh right now. "I've been 'politely' informed by Professor Snape that my curriculum is of substandard quality. He said that even second-years are expected to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows, so, sit wherever you please and let's get going, then."

"This is a terrible excuse of a joke," Nott whispered. He, along with nine other Slytherins, were heading for their seats behind the second-years. "Where are you going, Potter?"

"This is funny as hell!" muttered Harry, who chose to take the empty seat beside Ginny in front. She was simply delighted to see him again, of course.

"Hi."

"Hi to you too," Harry said, and he even gave a small wave in the direction of Colin Creevey a few seats away. It was barely a year since Colin had last pestered Harry with the former's camera; a habit that was ultimately stamped out by Pansy and her gang of girls.

"This is unacceptable," said Zabini, seated with the rest of the Slytherins far behind Harry. "We're not second-years!"

Jumping at the opportunity to retaliate against this unfairness, Millicent stood up from her desk. "I think it's only right that someone inform Professor Snape about this, er, 'misunderstanding'."

That was it; many students expected the recently hired Lupin to crumble at the thought of being admonished by Snape, although Lupin merely nodded. "I understand your concerns, Millicent, but rest assured that this lesson will still be of benefit to us all."

"But it's an insult to have these second-years sitting with us," said Draco, ignoring the unamused expressions of the younger Gryffindors. "Seriously, what's the point of all this?"

"How about we just get on with the lesson already?" Harry asked, regardless of being baffled by Lupin's odd sense of humour.

"Thank you, Harry. Take three points to Slytherin for that." Lupin smiled and finally began his lecture. "Red Caps! They're vicious creatures living in areas where human blood has been shed. Worst of all is how they ambush the unwary — and the lost — from their hideouts in old battlefields ..."

Pansy raised her hand. "Professor, do Muggles even stand a chance against those things?"

"Nope, chances are high that they'll die in a surprise encounter, I'm afraid."

Many second-years widened their eyes while most of the older students hardly gave a damn. They sat back and listened as Lupin carried on with his supposedly 'substandard' lecture for another half an hour, until he had the whole class stand up from their seats. Then he drew his wand and scattered the desks across the classroom.

"So, who's up for a game of 'Red Caps and Wizards'?" Lupin asked.

"A ... what?" Draco was clearly confused as he then looked at Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Zabini near the wall. "This is absurd!"

Lupin ignored Draco's whisper as the former split the second-years into two groups. "All right, those of you who are 'wizards' will try to disarm any of your 'Red Cap' opponents. Remember to use the Disarming Charm _only_; no jinxes or whatever else in here, OK? And as for the Red Caps, you're to use these" — he conjured a few plastic clubs on his desk —"to whack your opponents. A wizard is eliminated if touched by a club, and a Red Cap is out if disarmed. Sounds simple, right?"

"Um, what if we can't do a proper _Expelliarmus, _Professor?" a second-year girl asked.

"Then try the Levitation Charm on your opponent's bat instead," said Lupin. Things seemed pretty straightforward, until he rearranged the desks even more haphazardly throughout the room. This provided the wandless team with some cover, much like a Red Cap would use in the wild. "Who else wants to join?"

Harry seized the opportunity for some fun, much to his roommates' disappointment. "I'll be a Red Cap, sir."

"Then I'm a wizard!" Pansy said, surprising the Slytherin boys as she joined in as well — as did Daphne and Sally-Anne.

Many students scattered themselves around the classroom as their game got underway. Jets of light, and of varying strength, flew in different directions as the 'wizards' tried taking down their opponents. The 'Red Caps', however, quickly ducked behind whatever desks they could find, which they used to inch closer to their wand-bearing opponents.

Ginny was all smiles as she narrowly missed one of her classmates at the door. Then she set her sights on Harry, who climbed over a desk and was almost disarmed by Pansy. Most of the class were enjoying themselves by now, and Harry caught glimpses of second and third-years alike trying to get the one-up on their foes. Daphne and Sally-Anne were being particularly rowdy as they knocked over a couple of desks during their 'duel'.

"Hey, girls, settle dow —"

_"Expelliarmus!" _Pansy's spell caught Harry off guard, sending his plastic club flying through the air to be caught by her. "That's what you get for not paying attention, silly."

"Excellent!" said Lupin at his desk. "Take a point to Slytherin for that superbly cast spell, Pansy!"

She looked as smug as ever while watching the rest of the game unfold. None of the Red Caps could come close to hitting her, until Daphne's sneak-attack right at the end. "What?"

"And that, students, is why you should never underestimate any magical creature out there," Lupin said as he rearranged the desks and packed away his conjured clubs. "Especially the ones that strike when you least expect."

"But, Professor," Nott said from the back of the class, "that taught us nothing about the real world. Red Caps don't fight like students with toy clubs."

Lupin remained unfazed by Nott's disappointment. "You'll be surprised at how tactical and dangerous a well-prepared creature, even a Red Cap, can turn out to be. Don't say I never warned you, but, there are some nasty beasts just waiting to injure you children out there."

The bell rang, signalling the end of class.

Harry and the rest of the Slytherins packed their bags and made their way towards Transfiguration. There were many ways to navigate the castle, although one particular staircase was known to swivel and move, while another had a trick step and the rest were notorious for changing their destination across the week. Therefore, when Harry began his descent, he made use of whatever route he last remembered would lead down to the ground floor.

* * *

Compared to last year, October was moving along rather uneventfully so far, and it was soon time for another session of weekend Quidditch-practice. Harry strolled down the frosty lawns and made his way across the grounds towards the stadium, where he entered one of the tunnels marked 'SLYTHERIN PLAYERS ONLY'. He walked straight and then turned right, at about halfway down the tunnel, to enter his locker room.

"And here's our 'generous' Seeker," said Marcus Flint, seated on a green chair beside his blackboard. "You know the drill, Potter: if that Ginny Weasley catches the Snitch in our upcoming match, then you're off the team."

"Snape's orders, unfortunately," said one of the other Chasers, Cassius Warrington. Harry knew this all too well, especially after he'd confessed to a livid Snape last week.

"Then I'll get his place, right?" Draco asked while sitting between Beaters Derrick and Bole. "That's the whole point of being a reserve, you know. Father says I'm far too talented to be left languishing in this position."

Flint carried on speaking. "The fact that you're even joining us for practice means you can't fake that 'injury' any longer, Malfoy. Ever thought about that?"

"Yes, well, I guess the novelty's worn off by now." Draco removed his bandages and tossed them aside, which Keeper Miles Bletchley promptly vanished. "OK, now I'm ready to win Seeker, Potter."

Harry leaned back against the greyish wall as Flint began his pre-season talk. "... Gryffindor's definitely our biggest threat this season, and Hufflepuff's got themselves a new captain and Seeker: Cedric Diggory. Let's also not forget how Ravenclaw's changed their line-up with the addition of Chang Cho, or something like that ..."

Minutes of tactical talk passed by before the team was all set to get changed and grab their brooms. As for Harry, he opened his emerald-green locker and retrieved a very special set of robes. A surge of pride shot through Harry, because he knew that few people realised these robes were, in fact, second-hand. Even less knew that they had once belonged to James Potter: one of Gryffindor's finest Chasers back in the day. A bit of magic was all it took to convert the dusty, old uniform (which Professor McGonagall refused to let anyone else wear over the years) from scarlet-and-gold to emerald-and-silver; a task which Snape was all too happy to perform back in Harry's first year.

In fact, Harry remembered pretty clearly when Snape Transfigured James' robes in the former's office:

_"Now you're more brainy and less brawny, Potter."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"Run along now."_

"Potter, get moving on the double!" said Marcus Flint, standing in the centre of the field. He led the warm-ups before getting today's session underway, while many students came to either cheer or to scout their opposition. The Seeker match, in particular, drew the attention of the other teams — who watched as Draco signalled the start of the chase. This 'friendship', or whatever it was, between him and Harry had always been shaky over the years, especially with Harry insisting on maintaining ties with Hermione, Ron, Hagrid, etc.

"Chasers, form up! Bletchley, get over to those hoops!" said Flint, releasing the Bludgers and Quaffle once his Beaters had got into position. "All right, let's start off with our usual weak formations — too many unwanted eyes today, you know?"

"Ooohs" and "aaahs" echoed around the Slytherin stands as the students cheered for their team, in stark contrast to some of the comments coming from elsewhere.

"You call that a Beater's arm?" Fred Weasley asked, gesturing inappropriate hand signs from the Gryffindor stands. "My great aunt can whack 'em harder than you losers!"

"Yeah, mine too!" said George Weasley.

"No unnecessary harassment, please," said Percy Weasley nearby, to which his brothers all snorted in derision. "Two points from Gryffindor for showing that middle finger, Ronald Weasley."

"Sorry, Mum."

But, of all the Weasley siblings present here today, it was Ginny who kept her mouth shut and her eyes on her supposed rival: Harry Potter. The youngest member of Team Gryffindor fixed her gaze like a lion on its prey; her keen mind desperately trying to memorise whatever she observed.

This hadn't gone unnoticed by Oliver Wood, who immediately praised Ginny for her efforts. "Everyone, shut up and be like Ginny: observe and analyse!"

If Wood thought he was the only one who'd noticed Ginny's attention, then he was wrong — as Harry gradually toned down his efforts from there on out. Minutes passed by until Harry let his plan work through, and it wasn't too long until Draco scooped up the Golden Snitch after an impressive piece of flying. "I BEAT POTTER!"

Flint ceased the session and cornered Harry near the Slytherin tunnel thereafter. "The hell are you doing? Don't you realise that you're _this _close to being kicked off the team? Snape's orders, unfortunately."

A bit of explanation went a long way after that, and the team eventually regrouped in their locker room. Given all the unwanted attention coming from the stands that afternoon, Flint opted to dumb down his training even further.

"We'll organise something more private next time, don't worry," he said, and the group eventually resumed their session for the rest of the afternoon. "Don't want anyone getting word of our plans, Potter."

Flint's idea of a more discreet session took place the very next day. And although it was a real pain to brave a cold Sunday morning, the pros outweighed the cons. This time, Team Slytherin found themselves all alone in the stadium while everyone else remained fast asleep.

"So, you obviously know how the Quaffle works, right?" Flint dropped the scarlet ball before Harry, and it steadily hovered about. "Way back in the day, many Chasers complained about having to dive like hell every time the ball was dropped. Surely we can all see that getting quite irritating after awhile, eh?"

Harry nodded, seeing as he was already familiar with the basics.

"It's also easier to grip than a simple ball, since it's enchanted pretty good," said Warrington, explaining that one needn't necessarily grip tightly — like Muggles did with their bowling balls. "That's why you see us flying about so easily with this thing. Even _you_ should be able to grasp it without any trouble, Potter."

"Before we begin, here's something important for you to understand: don't Haversack," Flint said to Harry.

"That's when the Quaffle is held while going through the hoop, right?"

Flint nodded and continued explaining a few basic Chaser formations. None of these were too difficult for Harry to understand, though, as he'd thoroughly studied this position — like his father probably did.

"It's never easy being Chaser," said Flint, "especially against Gryffindor. Love 'em or hate 'em, they're damn strong with their complete line-up this year. Bell, Johnson, and Spinnet were always good, but their team often sucked in the Seeker department —"

Warrington carried on where Flint left off. "— but the latest Weasley is quite promising, even more so after your 'generous' donation, Potter."

Harry almost rolled his eyes as the boys, once again, expressed their disappointment at his actions. "So what? Nobody beats me to the Snitch in a real match."

"Right," said Flint. "Now let's practice some basic moves. You're familiar with the Porskoff Ploy, right?"

"Er, not actually."

"Warrington, explain," Flint ordered, snapping his fingers.

"It's basically when you fly up with the Quaffle to let your opponents give chase. Then you gotta make sure your boys are behind those opponents as you'll be tossing the Quaffle backwards, bypassing the enemy, towards your fellow Chasers."

"Montague, explain the Chelmondiston Charge," Flint said.

"It's one way of going for goal. You just stand on your broom, leap, and hurl that Quaffle towards a hoop — and make sure you don't fall off afterwards."

Flint seemed satisfied at the quick response. "See, Potter? There's quite a lot for you to learn before you're ready to try Chaser."

"Then let's get started."

Despite the hardships of learning a second position, Harry began his session with Flint, Montague, and Warrington (while Prefect Pucey was out doing homework as usual). Elsewhere, Draco was practising some Seeker tactics all by himself, seeing as Terence Higgs (who would've been first choice after Harry these days) had long since dropped out of the team. The Chasers worked on interceptions, reading a pass, back-passing, as well as long and short passes in formation. All in all, it was a truly informative session for Harry — who longed to follow in his father's footsteps.

"You do realise that it's not gonna be this easy on matchday, huh? Flint's only one opponent, and we normally go up against three," Montague said, as the trio of Chasers out-passed their intercepting captain to head for goal.

Flint allowed Harry a shot on the hoops as he spoke. "Only one Chaser can enter the 'scoring area', so you do it this time, Potter. Remember that that's basically an unmarked patch of territory around our opposing Keeper and their hoops."

"_Unmarked_ being the keyword," said Montague. "So do try to remember when to speed forward or drop back for another Chaser."

Harry charged forward, and then he tossed up the Quaffle and punched it towards the central post.

"Nope, too easy," Flint said as Bletchley barely stretched to block the Quaffle. "But I suppose we all gotta start somewhere. At least you didn't fall off your broom on your first try, unlike Montague over here."

Another half an hour of Chaser practice later, and Harry briefly glimpsed the large black dog yet again. This time, it appeared to be curled up rather comfortably in the empty Gryffindor stands. _Grim of Death, my arse,_ thought Harry, before resuming his training session once the dog got up and left. "We should really think about getting some more reserves, just in case something happens."

Flint shook his head. "Haven't seen any promising lads for Chaser yet; most of 'em suck so badly we might as well play a man down."

"What about Yasmin, huh? She's pretty good."

"Lads only, Potter."

It was now that Draco flew over and spoke in a rush of words while holding his pair of Omnioculars in hand. "The Weasel twins are headed this way, I swear!"

"WHAT?" There was no time to waste; Flint immediately ceased this morning's session. "How the hell did they know we were out here? Potter, —"

"I said nothing!"

Team Slytherin landed on the frosty field, shouldered their brooms, and raced to get showered and dressed faster than ever before. After that, they immediately split up while heading back up to the castle, although Harry was just a tad too slow. He was soon approached by Fred and George outside the stadium.

"Er, can I help you?" Harry asked, to which Fred was first to respond.

"Keep your secrets, mate, although you might want to know that wandering around alone out here isn't exactly clever."

"Since when do you guys care about safety?" Harry asked. "Are you threatening me out of practising for our match?"

"Nah, we're looking for something _serious_," said George. "Just get inside before we call Bighead Boy to come and give you a lecture on, I dunno, Dementors or whatever."

Unwilling to put up with Percy Weasley's crap, Harry made haste up the slopes, although he soon heard the twins arguing over something peculiar. It sounded as if they were searching for someone on ... something? What? Oh well, Harry carried on walking while ignoring Fred and George's odd behaviour. He wasn't in the mood to chat with the two boys who, in just under three weeks' time, would be whacking Bludger after Bludger in Harry's direction.


	5. Hogsmeade Preparations

_Divination Classroom, October 22nd, 1993._

Even though there was only half an hour left until lunch, it didn't feel this way for Harry. All he could do was stare aimlessly into his teacup while the ramblings of Trelawney, at each round table, barely registered in his mind.

"Remind me again why we chose this class?" he whispered to Pansy beside him. She, too, was battling to contain her look of boredom in this dim, stuffy, overly perfumed room.

"'Cos we were too lazy for Arithmancy, not in the mood for Runes, and way too clever for Muggle Studies."

It was true that both Harry and Pansy knew their way around the Muggle world, with Pansy's knowledge having taken Harry by surprise back in their first year. It was even more surprising that she and her mother knew so much about Muggles when, in truth, Mrs. Parkinson was actually a Death Eater (who pulled the Imperius Curse excuse to avoid imprisonment). That was a somewhat sensitive topic, especially considering how nobody knew what happened to Pansy's father back in the day.

"Should we change?" Harry asked, and Pansy smirked.

"You're just doing it for Granger." And then she started poking his left arm while whispering, "Granger, Granger, Granger. You got a crush on Granger!"

_Damn right I do._

Meanwhile, the rest of the Slytherins tried their best to decipher their teacups as Trelawney wandered around the room. One of those Slytherins was Draco, who spoke in an almost yawning tone. "I can see a ... I have no idea."

"You are not trying hard enough. Do clear your mind from the Mundane," Trelawney said, and then she turned to face Sally-Anne, who was sitting beside a yawning Goyle. "What about you, Miss Perks?"

"I think it's a square," said Sally-Anne, and Trelawney swiftly grabbed the cup.

"A coat! This signals an inevitable separation in your life!" She then walked a few metres to approach the desk closest to Harry and Pansy, where Nott and Zabini were currently sitting. "A fox, Mr. Nott? This indicates a close betrayal from you, or against you."

Harry darted his eyes over Pansy's left shoulder to spot the look on Nott's face. Fortunately, neither he nor Zabini seemed to care much about Trelawney's 'predictions'. Then it was time for the professor to approach Harry's table.

_Grim again, most likely._ Harry's thoughts were proven true as Trelawney conveniently spotted the Grim yet again in his teacup. However, she also noted a few other symbols — which came as a welcome surprise to Harry.

"How strange, very strange ..." Trelawney looked as confused as Harry felt at that moment. "This appears to be an ibex climbing a rock ... and given its position near the Grim, the signs are clear ..."

_Great, what'll I be going through this time?_

"... I would say you're about to enter a period of horrible suffering, Mr. Potter. It will be close to death, which is denoted by the ibex's closeness to the Grim, but you will be rewarded after many strenuous efforts and struggles."

Pansy furrowed one of her brows and crossed her arms. "I don't understand, and neither does Harry."

Trelawney continued scanning the teacup without acknowledging Pansy. "A jumping figure: change in your favour, Mr. Potter, and it appears to be a woman."

_The hell's going on in my life? _Harry smiled and accepted his odd collection of predictions nonetheless. "Is that all, Professor?"

"For now, perhaps. But the future is always in motion, and we can only discern its signs through the mystical art of Divination." Countless minutes passed by until the bell finally rang to signal the end of class. "... and remember, children: the path to awakening one's Sight is through hard work and dedication. It is not simply a case of perusing through the dry parchment of those textbooks."

The Slytherins took their leave and were soon making their way down the seventh-floor corridor.

"So," said Nott, walking behind Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, "Trelawney thinks I'm a traitor, huh? Who cares about her waste-of-space class anyway? It's only good for getting exercise along the way."

"You thinking of changing?" asked Sally-Anne, who quickened her pace and caught up with Nott near a T-junction in the corridor.

"Arithmancy's far better than this imagination junk, yes."

"Then count me in," Sally-Anne said, much to Harry and the others' surprise. "Don't look at me like that; I just thought Divination would, at least, be more than some looney's class."

"Come on, Draco, change," said Nott, and Draco shrugged.

"Why should a Malfoy have to work hard?"

"But your marks were quite good last year," said Sally-Anne. "Just behind Granger's, weren't they?"

Meanwhile, Harry stopped near an alcove, where he gathered the group of Pansy, Daphne, Tracey and Millicent together. "Is anyone else thinking of leaving?"

Tracey placed her finger on her chin and looked up. "Well ... there's nothing concrete about this subject, really, and I dunno if mum and dad would approve."

"My mom's chilled with whatever I do," Pansy said. She placed her hands on her hips, took a deep breath, exhaled, and then smiled. "Ah, no stress, no pressure, and no constant owls."

Everyone knew that Tracey had received a few letters of concern from her parents last week. She was expected to be in the top ten of her class, after all. "Two months is still OK to play catch-up," she said.

"Then leave," said Millicent, to whom Harry now turned.

"What about you?"

"I'd hate to agree with Nott, but, he's kinda right. Divination's only good for exercise."

Well, that was that. The group huddled together and eventually decided that Tracey would be joining Nott and Sally-Anne in Arithmancy. This, of course, meant that Harry's Divination class would consist of Pansy, Daphne, Millicent, Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and Draco.

"Didn't expect you to stay," Harry said to Daphne as they descended the Grand Staircase. "Don't you want something more logical, maybe?"

"Astoria's gonna do Divination someday, and I wanna tutor her. That's all that matters."

"Wish I had a sister," Pansy said, probably for the umpteenth time again. "What you looking at, huh, baby Potter?"

"You still got your cousin."

And so, for the umpteenth time again, Pansy reminded Harry all about how she rued Alyssa's transfer to Beauxbatons. Alyssa had arrived much like any other student at Hogwarts, and she had a great first year of school until the whole portrait-curse thing, which caused her parents to transfer her for her own safety.

"Would've been nice to have big cuz around, yeah," Daphne said, although Pansy abruptly changed the topic once they entered the Great Hall.

"Hey, check that out," Pansy said to Harry. "See that blonde Ravenclaw over there? They say she's crazy, not to mention that her name's Loony Lovegood."

"Who'd call their child that?" Harry asked, as they finally took their seats at their end of the Slytherin table. This was Pansy and her gang's (plus Harry's) spot, which everyone around knew by now.

"Someone crazy enough to own _The Quibbler_, I guess."

After lunch came Charms, which proved to be another session of watching Professor Flitwick flaunt his spellwork before getting the class to practise. In today's case, it was the Seize-and-Pull Charm, _Carpe Retractum_, that was being worked on by the third-year Slytherins. All they did was spend most of their session yanking stationery across the room — under Flitwick's supervision, of course.

When the bell rang, everyone packed up and left for History of Magic, which was another dreary session of listening to random wizarding battles. But Harry wasn't stressed in the least, though, seeing as Millicent often did a pretty good job at repeating Binns' lectures later on. In fact, it was mostly due to Millicent's efforts that Pansy and the girls (as well as Harry) ended up scoring no less than E's in the past.

"Just apply for this damn job already," Tracey said to Millicent after everyone had exited Binns' class. "Lord knows we could use a lively teacher, _literally_."

Back in first year, Harry had tried labelling Pansy and her gang according to his observations. Initially, it seemed as if Tracey was the brains, Millicent was just big, Sally-Anne was aggressive, Daphne was a sweetheart, and Pansy was, well, Pansy. Fortunately, Harry's stereotypes were proven to be inaccurate on the whole.

"Nah, Curse-Breaking's more to my taste," said Millicent, and then she widened her eyes and gasped. "Damn, my uncle once said he needed an O.W.L. in Arithmancy ..."

Harry knew what was coming, and he felt no reason to discourage his friends. "Don't let us Inner-Eye people get in your way. If you need to change, change. 'The future is always in motion', remember?"

Now it was Tracey who turned to Harry, as the group made their way towards the Entrance Hall. "You sure you don't wanna leave that wannabe Seer? Come to Arithmancy ... where you belong, Harry."

"No thanks."

* * *

Over a week later, Harry spent the morning of Sunday, the 31st, preparing himself for his first-ever Hogsmeade trip. Everyone had suggested that he disguise himself while exploring the village, just in case Sirius Black happened to be wandering around undetected. And it was for this reason that Harry was now sitting in the Potions classroom, brewing a weaker variant of the Oculus Potion (as the mainstream version would end up enhancing all of Harry's senses and likely overwhelm him in Hogsmeade).

"... now add that crystallised water, but don't let it turn indigo as the textbook suggests," Snape said, standing behind Harry as the latter got on with his brewing. "Don't screw up when we're almost done, Potter. I'm in no mood to repeat all of this."

Harry minimised his addition of crystallised water until the mixture resembled a faded blue. Then he stirred until his potion turned a tinge of orange, which he heated up to a pinkish colour, as opposed to the expected purple. "How do I know this won't simply enhance one of my other senses? Like touch or smell?"

"Because, unlike many in this class, I happen to know what I'm doing. Now finish your brewing before your inattention ruins our efforts."

Once the mixture was done, Harry took his dose and then removed his glasses. It felt strangely liberating to view the world so clearly behind his own two eyes, and he therefore thanked Snape before exiting the classroom.

Last on the list was getting himself a good dose of human Transfiguration, although Harry preferred to go straight to his Headmaster instead of Professor McGonagall. There was just one major obstacle in Harry's way, however: the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office.

"Um, Sherbet Lemon?" Harry asked. "Come on, man, just let me through." He saw the gargoyle glaring in return, as if daring Harry to try and force his way past. Right, desperate times called for desperate measures, and Harry therefore pulled out a catalogue of wizarding sweets, from his pocket. "Let's see... _Acid Pops, Bat's Blood Soup, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Blood-flavoured lollipops, Cauldron Cakes_ —"

The stone gargoyle leapt aside and granted Harry permission to pass, and so the latter folded up his parchment, ascended the spiral staircase, and proceeded to knock on the office door.

"You may enter," Professor Dumbledore said from within.

Harry stepped through the door and entered the familiar, circular office. As always, the room contained (but was not limited to) a few strange-looking instruments, many shelves of books, the Headmaster's desk, Fawkes the Phoenix, the Sorting Hat, as well as the portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses. "Good morning, sir. Sorry to disturb you so early."

There was neither disappointment nor admonishment in Dumbledore's voice as he spoke. "Think nothing of it, Harry, although I'd appreciate it if you kept your ingenious method of getting into my office to yourself. So, how can I assist you at this hour?"

A bit of explanation was all it took for Dumbledore to draw his wand and get to work — and it wasn't too long until Harry failed to recognise his own reflection once Dumbledore conjured a mirror. Gone was the black-haired, green-eyed boy who Harry often saw, and in his place was a redhead who'd fit in surprisingly well with the Weasleys. "Wow, Professor, no wonder you were one of the best Transfiguration teachers at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore took the compliment with a smile. "Thank you, Harry, although I must ask that you kindly return to either myself or Professor McGonagall to undo the changes this afternoon."

Choosing a name for himself proved to be the hardest part of today's preparations, and Harry paced up and down the second-floor corridor while pondering his choices. First on his list was 'James', but Harry opted for something different. Then he thought up 'McDonald' while picturing himself hanging out alongside Ronald (Weasley). Perhaps Hermione might catch the joke and actually smile these days.

With everything set, and an early breakfast already in his belly, Harry stalled for time until — eventually — joining the crowd of students gathering at the front gates.


	6. First Hogsmeade Trip

The mere fact that most students overlooked this 'McDonald' walking among them proved highly alarming to Harry, and he simply followed the bustling crowd out the front gates. Were his fellow third-years so excited over today's trip that they failed to notice a previously unknown student among them? And what about the older students? Surely they ought to have been somewhat familiar with their juniors?

These were the thoughts running through Harry's mind as he made his way down the pathway and into the wizarding village. In all fairness, though, nobody wore their uniforms out here — so Harry couldn't completely blame his fellow students for their lack of suspicion against him. Each student probably assumed that 'McDonald' was from a different house than their own, and this further empathised the dangers of their questionable inter-house relations.

"Anyone seen Harry?" Pansy asked from somewhere in the crowd.

"Where you hiding, lad?" asked Daphne, standing on tiptoes as she tried peeking over the oncoming group.

"Your friend's probably having a morning-wank, or something," Harry said, grinning as he strolled past Pansy's gang.

And then came another reminder as to how much the girls cared about him, especially Pansy, who rounded on 'McDonald'. "Shut the fuck up about your superiors, you Weasley-looking loser."

"Yeah, who's this prat anyway?" Sally-Anne asked as she reached for her trousers pocket. "Want me to deck his smug face, girls?"

"I'll deck your face," Harry said, and then he drew his wand just as Sally-Anne did hers. "Look familiar?"

Daphne looked as confused as ever. "Wha — Hey! That's Harry's wand!"

"Well, there _is_ a mass murderer after me, you know, so keep it down already!" Harry's words made the girls blink in surprise, and then they laughed at his appearance.

"Oh, goodness!" Pansy was hanging onto Millicent's shoulder while laughing (Harry always liked seeing her laugh). "Want a donation for a Butterbeer, _peasant_?"

"We can't have this Weasley-wannabe hanging out with us, can we?" Sally-Anne asked, barely suppressing her own amusement.

Jokes aside, it was Tracey who next spoke. "What if Black's under an Invisibility Cloak or a Polyjuice Potion nearby? He could be anywhere ... or anyone. He could even have done his homework on who Harry's usual pals are."

They soon decided that it was for the best that Harry head off on his own, and that he perhaps hang out with someone less conspicuous.

"We'll buy you something sweet, OK?" Pansy whispered while walking past Harry. "Don't cry now."

As for Harry, he set off in search of some decent company other than the girls. A good disguise meant a great opportunity to mingle with whoever the heck he felt like today. And it just so happened that he came across a wistful Ron Weasley staring at the window of Honeydukes.

"See something you like in there?"

Ron shot a most puzzled look at Harry. "Yeah, but it's too expensive to get 'em all. Er, who are you, by the way? Never seen you around before."

_Finally, a perceptive one._ Harry smiled and held out his hand. "Just call me 'McDonald', Ronald."

"You know my name?" Ron's expression instantly brightened at being known by some random stranger. "How do you know who I am? Bet you're in Gryffindor, right?"

Just then, Harry paused upon seeing Hermione coming up the road, and everything felt strangely warmer all of a sudden. "Who's that?"

Ron turned away from the sweetshop, and then he leaned against its greenish exterior. "Oh, if you don't know her then you're definitely not a Gryffindor. That's Hermione Granger: the cleverest but bossiest girl in third year —"

"Ron, you should really come and see the quill shop. It's brilliant!" And then Hermione stopped and shot a curious look at Harry. "And you are?"

"McDonald, and I'm hanging out with Ronald."

Hermione's lips twitched as she suppressed her amusement. "Oh, OK. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"Yeah, Ronald's already told me about you," Harry said, and Hermione smiled. "Let's get some sweets; I'll pay for everything."

Ron gaped. "You've gotta be joking! I'll pay!"

"With hardly a Galleon? Yeah right." Harry shook his head and walked towards the sweetshop, where it took them just under an hour to select their favourite treats, which Harry paid for.

"You really didn't have to," Hermione said. She coerced Harry into collecting their debts later on, although Ron was far too grateful to even bother feeling guilty over Harry's generosity.

"Don't listen to her usual guilt-tripping, mate."

Hermione frowned. "You shouldn't let others pay for everything like that."

"But he offered!"

"And you took advantage by going all over the store!"

Blah blah, back and forth, Harry waited for the pair to cease their arguments before getting on with today's visit. "All right, all right! Where to next?"

That ended up being Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, where Hermione eagerly took Harry and Ron through many aisles of colourful stationery. After this (admittedly dull) stop, Ron led the way through the worsening snowfall as the trio set off for Spintwitches Sporting Needs.

"Great, another one who's all over his Quidditch," said Hermione, sighing as Harry and Ron eagerly discussed the store's vast selection of brooms. "Oh, that reminds me; which house are you in, McDonald?"

And that was when Harry paused to consider his options here. "Gryffindor, like my parents. Some say it's where I truly belong, I guess."

"And you don't even know Hermione? _Everyone's_ seen her study like crazy in the common room by now."

"Hmm, I don't recall ever seeing you around, though," said Hermione, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly at Harry as they walked through the sporting shop. "Which year are you in?"

"Is this a Hogsmeade visit or an interrogation? Let's go take a look at the Three Broomsticks and get some beer."

"_Butterbeer_, you mean," Hermione said, and then she turned to whisper to Ron once they stepped out into the freezing weather. "There's something ... _odd_ about your new friend here, in case you haven't noticed by now."

"He knew my name; that's gotta count for something, right?" Ron braved the blizzard without bothering to hear Hermione's suspicions. The prospect of getting free Butterbeers was simply too good to pass up. "Hurry up, Hermione!"

It wasn't too long until Harry, Hermione, and Ron entered the bustling Three Broomsticks tavern, where they took their seats near a misty window overlooking the street. Naturally, it was Ron who volunteered to approach Madam Rosmerta for their drinks (with Harry's coin, of course).

This left Hermione sitting alone with Harry at their table. "So, McDonald, you're obviously at least a third-year to be joining us out here. Which subjects have you chosen?"

"The usual plus Divination and Care of Magical Creatures."

Hermione nodded while trying to minimise her visible suspicion. "Then you're definitely not a third-year, because Ron and I are in Hagrid's class as well. In fact, I've taken every class on the schedule, just so you know."

Harry gawked. "What? How's that possible?"

"Oh look, Ron's back with the drinks!"

Now it was Harry's turn to be suspicious, and he certainly was. Just how in the world could Hermione — or anyone, for that matter — take every single subject on offer? It wasn't as if Hogwarts had multiple professors offering the same classes at different times, right?

"Am I missing something?" Ron asked as he sat down to an awkward silence between Harry and Hermione.

"How does your girlfriend take every subject on offer?"

Those words made Ron almost jump back in his seat. "She's _definitely_ not my girlfriend! But, yeah, been wondering about that classes-thing myself ..."

They drank in silence while observing the rest of the tavern, including its diverse collection of visitors. There were witches and wizards — as Harry had expected — as well as what could've been a covered-up hag, a few vampires (under constant watch by those nearby), and even an ogre seated at a distant table.

"I think we ought to have a look at the Shrieking Shack later on," said Hermione. "They say it used to give the villagers a real scare back in the day."

At this, Ron placed his empty bottle upon the table and smiled. "According to _Hogwarts: A History_, right?"

"_Sites of Historical Sorcery_, actually. You really ought to read more, Ron."

"That's Percy's job, not mine."

"There's no excuse not to read!"

_Fuck's sake, not this again,_ Harry thought.

A few Butterbeers later, the trio set off to further explore the chilly village, and Harry now offered to splash his coin at Zonko's — which only broadened the grin on Ron's face.

They made haste for the crowded joke shop, although it was mostly Ron who ended up buying anything. In the end, Harry hardly said a word as he handed over five Galleons to the store's owner, Bilton Bilmes. Then, following their amusing little detour, the trio walked all the way towards the fence overlooking the Shrieking Shack, where they spent half an hour standing and chatting about current events.

"I really need to head back soon," said Harry, checking his watch to see that it was just past noon by now.

"Come on, mate; stick around and let's go check out the village some more."

There was just enough time for Harry to stay before his peripheral vision began to blur. And with that, he made up some random excuse in order to return to the castle once more, where he got himself Untransfigured by McGonagall before returning to the dungeons. Harry then spent the rest of his afternoon doing homework and stuffing himself full of Honeydukes' finest products until his housemates returned.

"Where the hell have you been, Potter?" Nott asked, and Harry made up his second random-excuse of the day. Then he stood up and left to attend the Hallowe'en Feast, which was a splendid occasion with a wide variety of delectable cuisine, even on a night when many students were already full of all sorts of desserts.

"Hey, Harry," Pansy said beside him at the table. "Granger's giving you the eye from her spot. Maybe she's on to your little disguise earlier?"

"Oh, really?" Harry said, and then a sudden, mischievous idea struck him. He already knew the current password to the Gryffindor common room anyway. "I'll give her something to be on about ..."

With that in mind, he stood up, excused himself, and then swiftly left the decorative feast earlier than usual. His next stop? Gryffindor Tower.

_I'll break into her common room and_ _ mess up her bed, yeah._

And so he strode like a man on a mission. Nobody was going to stop him from doing whatever it was he sought to do tonight. Wait, what was he even thinking? It was, in all honesty, a truly stupid idea to even consider getting past the Fat Lady — especially given that Harry was a well-known member of Slytherin's house.

"You shouldn't be wandering around, Potty Potter. He's got a nasty temper up there —"

Who gave a crap about what Peeves said anyway? Harry ignored the cackling poltergeist while climbing countless staircases until entering the Fat Lady's corridor. Would she let him in, even if just for a few minutes, if he retold the story of how he took down Salazar's Basilisk, with the sword of Gryffindor? So deep in planning was Harry that he continued to walk while staring at the ground; his thoughts focused on getting past the Fat Lady ahead.

"— LET ME IN RIGHT NOW!"

Harry froze. And then he saw, to his horror, some ragged-looking man slashing at the Fat Lady's portrait, which was empty.

It was Sirius Black.

Caught between a psychopath at one end of the corridor, and the exit at the other end, Harry wasn't entirely sure what to do. Any sudden movements might be his last, since Harry knew that Black was convicted for blowing up thirteen people, or something. _Why is it always me?_

Just then, Black spun around and froze at the sight of Harry. "P-Prongs? He's in there, man, he's in there!"

The hell was going on around here?

"How are you here, Prongs? Did you come back as a ghost? No, too much colour. Are you somehow a poltergeist? Can you get in and find him?"

"Um, find who?" Harry asked, his mind racing to make a dash without getting blown up somehow.

"He's in there; he's going to hurt Harry. He's too close."

What the devil was going on up here? Wasn't Black the one trying to off Harry, for Lord Voldemort? And yet, he suddenly made a dash and ... hugged Harry?

"You take one too many Bludgers to the head, Prongs? Ears gone deaf?" Black then widened his gaunt eyes in shock, and then he glanced from Harry's eyes to the scar on his forehead. "Oh, wait, you're —"

Harry broke free and seized the opportunity to fire a Disarming Charm (for whatever reason), and then he ran like hell out the corridor. He didn't know where his feet took him; he just sped out onto the seventh-floor landing and leaped over the nearest railing. Rules be damned, Harry didn't care that doing so warranted a hefty set of detentions; he simply freefalled his way down until being stopped by the safety enchantments near the base of the Grand Staircase.

From here, he tried to remain calm while forcing his way between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables to reach the staff one up ahead. "P-Professor!"

Countless students carried on with their feasts and discussions even as Harry stood panting right before Professor Dumbledore's seat. Wasting no time, the Headmaster leaned forward and tried to understand what was happening. "Harry, what —"

"Sirius Black ... upstairs ... outside Gryffindor Tower ..." Harry saw the sudden look of horror on the other professors' faces, and they immediately dropped their forks and pushed out their seats.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, showed a strange mix of composure and urgency as he stood up and drew his knobbly-looking wand. Then he had McGonagall issue orders to most of the staff while Dumbledore himself beckoned for Lupin and Snape to approach.

"What's going on?" some Hufflepuff asked nearby, to which Professor Sprout demanded that they sit down and be silent. This did little to quell the growing sense of concern, however, especially as the staff were no longer cracking jokes and making small talk at their table.

"Potter, what do you think you're doing?" Snape asked as Harry followed the trio of Lupin, Snape, and Dumbledore down one of the aisles. "Get back to your seat immediately, where it's —"

"Safe?" Harry outright defied his Head of House by choosing to keep up with Dumbledore. "Show me anywhere safer than right here, sir."

Snape was livid, but Lupin gave him no time to respond as they hurried out the Great Hall. By the time the group rushed up the marble staircase, Dumbledore had already instructed a few ghosts to disperse and patrol wherever they could. "I'd like to hear how it is that you've stumbled across Sirius Black tonight, Harry."

"And outside Gryffindor Tower?" Snape asked.

Only Lupin remained silent as Harry told of how he'd planned to sneak in for some silly prank on Hermione. In all fairness, it would've been a mildly amusing story had circumstances not been as they were. "I know it sounds stupid, Professor."

"We'll deal with that later," said Snape, as the group entered to inspect the now-vacant Fat Lady's corridor. There were no signs of life, however, other than the group of four detected in here. "Gone? BLACK WAS ALWAYS A DAMN COWARD!"

Harry stared, open-mouthed, at his uncharacteristically loud Potions master._You're insane in the brain, man._

"Not now, Severus," said Lupin, his expression sterner than Harry had ever seen before. "Not in front of Harry."

"You know ..." Snape rounded on Lupin and held him at wand-point. "I find your lack of concern highly suspicious. Are you not bothered with having a deranged murderer on the loose? Or perhaps you're too overwhelmed with fond memories of this very corridor —"

"I think that's enough." A flick of Dumbledore's wand separated the two teachers from quarrelling, or perhaps more.

But none of this made any sense to the observing Harry, who merely stood trying to comprehend the surprising level of hostilities here. "Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?"

"None of your business, Potter. Keep your nose where it belongs!"

"How ironic of you to say that," said Lupin, neatening his shabby robes and turning away from the fuming Snape. "Don't mind your Head of House, Harry. I'm more concerned over you, to be honest."

At this point, Dumbledore effortlessly Transfigured twelve statues of armour to keep watch in the corridor. Then he took off with a still-livid Snape to search for the Fat Lady, while Lupin remained with Harry near the slashed portrait.

"I don't understand," Harry said, sitting against the wall.

Lupin drew his wand and remained on high alert while Harry tried retelling as much of his earlier encounter with Black, in more detail. Nothing made sense, not even when Lupin's face paled at the mention of Black's words. "He called you 'Prongs'?"

Harry nodded and shrugged. "What's that? Some kind of password, or something? He kept saying something about wanting to get someone in that common room."

"But you're not a Gryffindor, and everyone knows that!" Lupin said, with an expression of confusion which rivalled Harry's. "If Sirius Black's been skulking around trying to get access to this castle, there's absolutely no way he wouldn't know to target the dungeons instead."

"What if he's maybe looking for someone else?"

"Highly unlikely, especially since I'm no longer a student." Lupin stopped dead in his tracks, unwilling to speak any further on this topic.

"Black also had me close enough for the kill but did ... nothing. He just grabbed me and called me Prongs and stuff."

Lupin paused for thought before snapping his fingers. "Perhaps Professor Snape is not entirely inaccurate with his accusations. This corridor and its memories ... the good old days ... I think it's safe to assume that you were one extremely fortunate child tonight, Harry."

How the hell was almost dying supposed to be fortunate? "Why is everyone being so damn vague tonight?"

There was no point in keeping Harry completely ignorant, and Lupin likely knew this. "What if I told you that Sirius Black knew your father?"

"Then I'm still confused as hell, sir."

"And what if I told you that 'Prongs' was your father's nickname?"

Now _that_ made sense; perhaps Black was so screwed up from the Dementors that he mistakenly believed Harry to be the latter's father, especially given how close their resemblance was. However, there was no time for sentimentalities as Dumbledore and Snape soon returned.

"Well, Severus, I can safely say that Harry was saved due to his striking resemblance to James," said Lupin, standing with a mighty proud smile on his face.

Snape, on the other hand, bore the complete opposite of a smile. "Then I guess Potter's just as much a coward as his father, because Peeves had informed us that Black was wandless. _Wandless_, Lupin, in a school where even a first-year could've done more harm to Black than Potter's managed."

"But I thought he was capable of wandless magic, like Professor Dumbledore, or something," said Harry, who was all too used to being admonished by his Head of House.

Snape's expression was one of incredulous disappointment. "You thought Black was on the Headmaster's level? Seriously?"

"Be reasonable with your student, Professor Snape," Dumbledore said, shooting Snape a stern enough look to have the Potions master back off. "Now, I would prefer that Harry rejoin the rest of the school in the Great Hall. We can discuss the inconsistencies of tonight at a later stage."

Like a child sent to his room, Snape was frowning non-stop after being chided by Dumbledore.

Harry, meanwhile, resolved to try and soften up Lupin over time. If he could just get a bit more information about Black's past, then perhaps things might be clearer. Why in the world would a deranged murderer be concerned over the safety of the one he was allegedly trying to kill? And who the hell was Black looking for up here anyway?

For now, however, Harry allowed himself to be escorted to the Great Hall, where hundreds of students were already fast asleep in purple sleeping bags. There was no doubt that the school's rumour mill would be in full swing tomorrow, and Harry prepared himself for the onslaught of questions set to come.


	7. Change of Plans

Whether in the common room, the corridors, the Great Hall, or during classes, Harry retold the same story over and over again in the days following his encounter with Sirius Black. Not all was said, though, as Harry preferred keeping the finer details of that evening to himself. He just felt that something wasn't quite right; a thought that was shared by one of the few people whom Harry had grown to trust over the years.

"It doesn't make any sense," Harry said, drumming his fingers on the office desk while speaking. "Black seemed more than just 'out of his mind', and he made no attempt to attack me at all."

"Phineas, a Knut for your thoughts?" Dumbledore asked, as he turned to look at the portrait of a clever-looking wizard, who was dressed in splendid robes of green and silver.

"He's a disgrace to my family name; nothing else matters."

It was then that Harry realised who this was. "Oh! You're Phineas Black, aren't you?"

"How could a Slytherin not even know my full name? Absolutely shameful."

"Ahem, Phineas Nigellus is the second great-grandfather of Sirius Black, yes," said Dumbledore, still seated in his throne-like chair behind his desk. "But, rest assured that familial relations does not cloud his judgement."

"Speaking of which," Phineas said. "Why and how could Sirius have broken out all by himself? Surely he'd've passed by his own cousin's cell on the way out of Azkaban? Or perhaps even he didn't want Bellatrix running amok again."

_Who'd__ give their child a name like that?_ Harry wondered, and he couldn't help but picture some haughty schoolgirl strutting about. 'Bellatrix' was probably a feisty name for a feisty witch. "Bellatrix Black, right?"

"Lestrange," Phineas said from his portrait on the wall, "courtesy of Rodolphus: another promising member of society gone to waste."

Minutes turned to over half an hour as Harry, Dumbledore, and even Phineas (on occasion) pondered the current state of affairs. They were determined to at least find some piece of information which might have been overlooked.

"Harry, might I ask to see what occurred on that night?" Dumbledore asked, before explaining all about his Pensieve, which left Harry in awe while standing at its cabinet.

"Can I use this to prove that Voldemort's still out there?"

"Not quite," said Dumbledore, who proceeded to explain the Ministry's rejection of using memories as evidence. After that, he instructed Harry to focus as much as possible with regards to his encounter with Black, which ended up being extracted in the form of a silvery strand from Harry's temple.

"What if I misremembered something, sir?"

"Magic has a way of making things work, Harry." And on that cryptic note, Dumbledore entered the glowing contents of the Pensieve — leaving Harry with little else to do but explore the rest of the office.

Almost immediately, Harry's eyes settled upon a glass case — in which the magnificent, silver artefact of Godric Gryffindor was kept. Nothing could prevent Harry from retrieving it, and so he opened the case and felt a rush of pride upon lifting the sword.

"Such foolishness," Phineas said as Harry gave the sword a few swings. "If this was still my office, and if _I_ was still Headmaster —"

"Then you wouldn't even have a student here in the first place," the portrait of Dumbledore's immediate predecessor, Armando Dippet, said. "I'm sure they avoided your office like the plague."

"At least I didn't overlook the biggest, nastiest up-and-coming Dark wizard in my time," Phineas said, in reference to Tom Riddle having visited Dippet on occasion. "Oh, wait, at least I had the brains to bring down the law on troublesome students before they went completely rotten."

"Sorry, Professor Black," Harry said as he lowered the sword, "but I'm sure Riddle would've pulled the wool good over your eyes too."

"Hmph!"

"Good boy!" Dippet said to Harry, and then the rest of the portraits proceeded to gang up on Phineas until he admitted defeat at last.

Once Dumbledore returned from the Pensieve, Harry politely returned the sword to where he'd found it earlier. "So, um, how'd it go in the memory, Professor?"

"You were correct; there was something terribly amiss with Sirius Black's behaviour." Dumbledore placed his fingers on his chin (or rather, on his beard) and narrowed his eyes. "But as to what, or who, Sirius had been searching for, that remains a mystery. Perhaps Professor McGonagall ought to conduct a thorough search of the Gryffindor common room immediately. Thank you, Harry, that'll be all for tonight."

Although he still had some lingering questions, Harry decided against overstaying his visit to the Headmaster's office. He then stepped out and later followed a prefect, Adrian Pucey, down to the common room, where Harry was greeted by a trio of girls.

"You shouldn't be staying out so late with a madman on the loose!" Pansy said, crossing her arms and giving Harry a stern-ish scowl.

"Forget him and let's focus on our homework again!" Tracey said while sitting at a corner table. She was determined to keep up with Arithmancy and Transfiguration before they got out of hand.

As for Harry, he walked to the far end of the low underground room until stopping at a T-junction of sorts. There was a door on either side of him, although Harry could take only the one on his left, in order to enter the boys' dormitories. Its layout remained the same as ever: one long tunnel which branched off into seven smaller ones on its right, each leading to a different year's dormitory room. For obvious reasons, Harry took the third adjacent tunnel and stepped through an emerald door marked with a silver 'III'.

Home sweet home again.

The walls of this circular dormitory-room were of a greyish stone design, and each of the six four-poster beds was draped with emerald curtains. Speaking of which, the beds were positioned clockwise as follows: Harry's, Draco's, Crabbe's, space for the door, Goyle's, Nott's, and then Zabini's.

"So, Potter," Nott said while lounging on his bed, "what did the old fool have to say this time? Still as clueless as ever about Black?"

"He's working on it."

"Of course," said Draco. "They should just dump the idiot and put my father in charge. Then you'd see some real changes around here."

Ignoring the onslaught of Dumbledore-related insults from his roommates, Harry gathered his pyjamas and then stepped through the door beside his bed, which led to his own private bathroom.

_Your__ dad's a coward, Malfoy._ _Mine would've kicked his arse_ _any day._

* * *

Later that week, Harry overheard Fred and George chiding their younger brother in the Entrance Hall — on Thursday afternoon.

"I'm telling you, McDonald said he was a Gryffindor!" said Ron. "And how do you even know all the students anyway?"

Fred almost laughed at Ron. "Next time, don't go around making imaginary friends, idiot. What if that 'McDonald' was actually Sirius Black in disguise looking to fish out our password? Have you even _seen_ your conveniently rich mate since Hogsmeade?"

"Er, not really."

"'Not at all', you mean," George said, and Harry slipped out the castle to rejoin his classmates.

"Care of Magical Creatures ..." said Tracey, as the Slytherins descended the frosty lawns towards Hagrid's cabin. "I suppose it was all right until _someone_ screwed up this class."

"Yes, well, _someone_ had to put the overgrown oaf in his place," Draco replied. "Look at it this way: at least now we'll get an easy curriculum of Flobberworms and whatever else from the idiot. Not my fault he panicked at a simple attack."

Roommate or not, Harry had little tolerance for people like Draco Malfoy and their hateful, discriminative views in life — and so he began pondering ways of retaliating in secret.

"Why are we out here in the rain?" Draco asked once they'd arrived at Hagrid's garden. "Honestly, my father's going to hear about this complete lack of professionalism."

"Shut up, Malfoy; it's just a light drizzle."

Draco turned to face Ron, who was standing between Neville and Seamus near the centre of the crowded garden. "Oh wait, I suppose your family's used to being out in the rain, eh, Weasley?"

And so the bickering continued until Harry discreetly hurled a stone towards his own roommates.

"And what are _you_ looking at, Mudblood Gra — Ouch!" Draco spun around after getting hit. "Who threw that?"

Thankfully, it wasn't long until Hagrid arrived on scene. "Sorry abou' the weather. If anyone needs an umbrella, I go' a few over here."

Although today's lesson was easy as pie, not everyone was content with feeding a bunch of near-useless worms in a crate ...

"This can't go on any longer," Hermione whispered after cornering Harry near a tree. "You'd better do something to convince Malfoy to call off that spiteful execution, Harry. Don't you _dare_ forget."

Ever the observant behind those oval glasses, Tracey arrived in no time beside Harry. "Are you threatening him, Granger?"

"She can threaten me all she wants, yeah." Harry's words had no effect as Hermione simply blinked and walked off, leaving Harry to scratch the back of his hair and sigh. "Well, I tried."

"Tried what?" Tracey scoffed and accompanied Harry back to the castle, since the entire house knew better than to leave Black's prime target unguarded these days. "Eyes up, and stop thinking about Granger when there's a madman on the loose."

"As if the Dementors are just gonna let him through."

"They did last time, didn't they? Or how else did he get out?" Tracey asked.

Conspiracy theories be damned, Harry was in no mood to discuss Sirius Black _yet again _while crossing the Entrance Courtyard, at sunset. He'd rather get on with his dinner and finalise his plans for the upcoming match that weekend.

Friday arrived with a fearsome storm —and with Slytherin taking on Gryffindor tomorrow, it didn't take long for Flint to lecture Harry and Draco in the corridors. "Wish you kept up that injured act, Malfoy. We could've used you to reschedule our match against Gryffindor."

What a stupid idea, and Harry almost laughed. "I'm still available to play, remember?"

"Er, I knew that. Was just thinking up some supplementary tactics, y'know?" Flint gritted his teeth in annoyance. "We big boys know how to weather the storm, but you're gonna get blown about like a doll, Potter."

And so they spoke, in hushed tones, until Flint went his own way, while Harry and Draco carried on towards their next class— although Harry deliberately chose to head through the third-floor corridor at this hour.

"Not this again," Draco said, and he promptly left as Harry deliberately tried intercepting the Gryffindors after their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Well, 'intercepting' was a bit harsh; Harry was mostly in the mood to cross paths with Hermione Granger again, and that he did.

The scowl on Hermione's face as she rushed past Harry without so much as acknowledging him came as particularly jarring to the latter. No way could anyone be so upset after a lesson with Professor Lupin, and it was for that reason that Harry approached the last student to exit the classroom.

"And now? What's got Hermione's wand in a knot?" Harry asked Ron, who strode out the classroom looking glum while speaking.

"Snape took us today, 'cos Lupin's not feeling too well. Now we got tons of essays in addition to watching him call Hermione an 'insufferable know-it-all'. Oh well, at least you're not getting to that Snitch tomorrow; not with Ginny out there."

Harry was about to respond when the classroom door opened to reveal Snape. "Weasley's correct, Potter; you won't be catching that Snitch. In fact, you won't even be on your broom tomorrow. Let this be a lesson to you that when wandless criminals enter this school, we expect our _wand-bearing_ students to, at least, have a greater response than fleeing like cowards.

"In simpler terms, you're banned from tomorrow's match for allowing Black to escape."

"That's rubbish!" said Ron, uncaring for Snape's inevitable worsening of his detention. "How can you mess with your own team like that?"

"Your opinion is as useful as Longbottom at a cauldron, Weasley. Now get out of my sight before you're cleaning the hospital wing for over a week."

"My sister's better than Malfoy, though," said Ron, grumbling as he walked away.

Snape dismissed Ron with a wave of the hand before turning to glare at Harry. "Surprised, Potter? Now you know how the rest of us felt on Hallowe'en, when you fled from a near-harmless convict. Not to mention your previous stupidity in handing the Gryffindor Seeker a foolish advantage in the air."

Harry forwent verbal retaliation against his Head of House and, instead, took it in stride while hoping that Ginny would beat Draco to the Snitch.

The news of Harry being banned from tomorrow's match spread like wildfire by that evening, necessitating an emergency meeting from Flint. The captain then gathered his entire team, including his reserves, to discuss the issue in their common room.

"This is absolutely uncalled for!" Prefect Yasmin said, lounging across a couch near the table where Team Slytherin were gathered. Elsewhere, Pansy and the girls nodded in agreement while voicing their support for Harry as well.

"Unless you're on the team, keep shut," replied Flint. "What was I saying? Oh yeah ... There's no point in fighting Professor Snape, so we just have to trust that Malfoy's ready to go. Why can't you still be injured, man?"

That remark made Draco frown before speaking. "And why should I be worried about some beggar on a new broom? Nice going there, Potter."

"Cut the petty crap and let's rather focus on our game," said Prefect Pucey.

One of the Beaters, Lucian Bole, glanced quizzically at Pucey. "Weren't you too busy to put up with Quidditch, mate?"

"And he missed all of our practice sessions anyway," the other Beater, Peregrine Derrick, said. "Sorry, but, we'll stick with the usual line-up minus Potter, Pucey. Malfoy, hope you're as good as you boast."

At this, Draco sat up straight in his chair and nodded. "Just watch me in the air tomorrow. That blood traitor's got nothing on us."

"Four points from Slytherin for that vicious discrimination, Malfoy," Yasmin said. She was forever one of the more tolerable types, regardless of how stern she could sometimes be.

"Whatever. I'll more than make it up tomorrow anyway."

* * *

Harry awoke to a buzz of excited chatter on Saturday morning, but he was in no mood to hear Draco's incessant, self-indulgent ego all day long. "Good luck up there today."

"Malfoys don't need luck."

_Your dad sure did when begging to keep his arse out of Azkaban._

Keeping his thoughts to himself, Harry smiled at Draco nonetheless, and then he made haste out the common room and, eventually, ended up finishing an early breakfast. Better to sit in a near-empty Great Hall than to put up with all the stares, sniggers, and whispers from the rest of the school. Or perhaps Harry ought to seek sympathy by putting on a crestfallen expression? Yes, that was exactly what he did as he sat staring at his plate.

"Hey, I heard about what happened. Well, it's all over the school, actually," a girl standing between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables said. She was a gorgeous Ravenclaw with long, sleek black hair — and the cutest freckles on her nose.

"You're Chang Cho, right? Ravenclaw's new Seeker?"

"Pleasure to meet you, Potter Harry," she said, holding out her hand, which Harry shook while apologising for the mix-up. "No worries. So, um, you planning on watching the match? It's understandable if you skive off from such unfairness, though."

No response was needed as Harry stood up and prepared to leave. He grabbed some snacks, swung his bag over his shoulder, and then glanced at Cho as she gave him a pitied look. "What?"

"I've seen Malfoy's type before, Harry; it's only a matter of time until he steals your position for good."

Some might argue that Cho could be driving a wedge between Slytherin's Seekers, but Harry knew better. Far better. "Yeah, well, let's just say that I'm more than just a Seeker, and let's keep that our little secret, OK?"

"Sure thing."

Seizing the opportunity to benefit from an older student, Harry gestured towards the door. "Er, I dunno if you'd be willing to help, but, I've been struggling a bit with Transfiguration lately ..."

Cho took one glance at Harry's expression and led the way out into the Entrance Hall. "All right, but I'm not in the mood for Madam Pince today. Let's go find us an empty classroom instead."

No objections there as Harry often preferred hanging out with girls, seeing as his very first friend had been Hermione Granger, on the train. With this in mind, he followed Cho all the way up to the sixth floor — where they occupied one of the many abandoned classrooms in this castle.

So what if Snape pulled such a conniving stunt against Harry? The latter salvaged the situation by retrieving his textbook and getting some much-needed studying that morning.


	8. A Missed Match

"Why do we even learn this stuff?" Harry asked as he paged through his Transfiguration textbook, while studying with Cho in an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor. "What's the point of turning a hedgehog into a pincushion, or an owl into a pair of glasses?"

Cho leaned back while sitting in her desk, opposite Harry's, and crossed her arms. "How about we start by having you change your hair colour, then?"

"No way. That's N.E.W.T.-level stuff."

"Exactly," said Cho, taking a few minutes to explain how these supposedly 'useless' spells worked to improve one's skills over time: mainly by using similar shapes between the target and end product to make things easier for the beginner. She tutored Harry for well over the next hour and even wrote down some notes in his textbook too, which would certainly come in handy someday — as Transfiguration required hard work, loads of effort, and using whatever additional knowledge one could gain. "Hey, I suppose you could probably beat Hermione Granger in class after this," she said, smiling. "Don't think I haven't seen you eyeing her across the Hall."

"Dunno what you're talking about."

"Fine, but I'd suggest stopping those pushy comments of yours before she gets annoyed. It's often better to wait things out than to irritate the poor girl." The topic eventually changed to Quidditch as Cho mentioned that Team Ravenclaw was well aware of Harry's Chaser training. "We Eagles got eyes and ears everywhere," she said, looking mighty proud of herself. "Nothing slips by us."

"Ever heard of a Basilisk?"

They studied for at least another hour while also discussing last year's events, and then the buzz of students could be heard coming up the slopes — even through the howling wind.

"Did you see that?" Harry asked, standing on tiptoes while peeking out the window. "Could swear I just saw someone being carried on a stretcher."

Wasting no time, Cho returned the classroom to its former arrangement and then exited alongside Harry. Their quick pace took them down many flights of stairs until they reached the first floor, where it was a relatively short walk to the hospital wing.

"So, um, ladies first?" Harry asked while standing at the doors.

"Youngsters take the lead."

The hospital wing was as crowded as ever, with members of Team Gryffindor gathered around the furthest bed. Harry also saw Hermione, Ron, Percy, and a few others huddled together as well — not to mention Mr. and Mrs. Weasley too.

"... but I suppose it could've been worse," Mr. Weasley said, calm and collected. But as for Mrs. Weasley, she was sobbing non-stop over their unconscious daughter lying in bed.

Harry had barely taken a step forward when his Head of House approached him at the doorway.

"Consider your Quidditch-ban extended, Potter," Snape said, and then he flicked his wand, causing a bag full of splintered wood to shoot through the air towards him. "This is what happens when idiots make their own decisions."

The sight of Ginny's battered Nimbus, lying in twigs and splinters within the bag, brought a deep sense of unease within Harry. Why was the youngest Weasley so unfortunate in life? First, it was the diary; then, it was the Chamber; and now, it was her new broomstick as well. "But why am I being blamed?" he asked.

"Because your ignorance has reached levels where not even the school's property is safe." Snape paused to let those words sink in, even though Harry and Cho were both clearly confused. "The Whomping Willow was planted here long before your time, Potter, so what gives you the right to disturb its peaceful existence — just like your father and his gang of friends once did?"

"But, sir," said Cho, "Harry's been with me all morning —"

"Three points from Ravenclaw for interrupting my conversation," said Snape. He proceeded to explain how Ginny had caught the Snitch before fainting and falling in the presence of numerous Dementors on the pitch, after which Ginny's broom was then blown off-course towards the Whomping Willow.

"So how's any of that _my_ fault, Professor?" Harry asked. "It's not like a simple broom could even scratch the Willow anyway."

Ignoring Harry's statement, Snape shut the bag and placed a Locomotion Charm on it, causing it to follow him around as he exited the hospital wing.

"What a jerk," Harry muttered. "Guess we won't be seeing each other in the next match, then."

"You deserve much better than _Snape_ as your Head of House," said Cho, giving Harry a pitied look. "Come to Ravenclaw; Flitwick will love having you around."

"There's no such thing as changing houses."

As much as Harry wanted to stay behind and meet the Weasley parents, Cho decided that it would be best to give the family some space. And so she spun Harry around by his shoulders and then led him out of the hospital wing. They followed the corridor until reaching the balcony overlooking the Entrance Hall, where Draco Malfoy and his two usual cronies stood at the base of the marble staircase.

"Hey, Potter!" Draco said. "Thanks a lot for costing us the — wait, is that _Chang_?"

"Yeah. Got a problem?" Harry asked, unwilling to take rubbish from his own roommates. (Not that this was the first time Draco came across as being less than friendly towards him.) "Say hello to my new tutor."

Draco's response was drowned out by a group of Ravenclaws passing by. They jeered at his loss as well as noting that 'money can't buy everything', trampling Draco's already battered ego. "Just you wait until I take on your team," he said in return.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Cho asked from atop the balcony.

"It means I'm going to beat you to the Snitch," — Draco smirked — "especially now that Potter's been banned again. That's what happens when people get generous with the wrong sort."

Harry knew perfectly well who the 'wrong sort' were. It was just a pity that he happened to share a dormitory with them. However, just as Harry was about to respond with a passive-aggressive remark of his own, he spotted a crowd of Gryffindors exiting the Great Hall — most of whom openly laughed at Draco as they climbed the marble staircase.

_And that's what happens when _you_ end up being the wrong sort, _Harry thought, inwardly basking in Draco's humiliation as the latter left — with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him — to enter the Great Hall.

"I don't know how you've survived this long in that house," said Cho. "Soft little thing like you should've been beaten down by now. No offence."

Harry kept silent whilst following Cho into the Great Hall for lunch. Soft? _Him?_ These plebs had no idea of Harry's occasional trips to the Restricted Section. Even Hermione would be shocked, if she ever found out what kind of spells Harry had taken to reading about.

The rest of the day passed by without anything of note, and when Harry finally settled into his dormitory that evening, he knew there was nothing to worry about with regards to his roommates. They may bicker and argue over the smallest of things (or not so small, in the case of last year's events), but Harry could always call this place home. After all, it wasn't as if there weren't any ghosts or house-elves around to occasionally keep an eye on things.

Sunday morning saw Harry spend most of his time in the hospital wing, at Ginny Weasley's bedside. Ginny was now an odd mix of triumph (from having won), embarrassment (from waking up to see Harry at her side once again), and concern that the Dementors might invade one of Harry's games as well.

"Oh please," said Harry, frowning, "it's not like I'm even playing in the next one. And who's to say Snape won't find some reason to ban me at the end as well?"

"What's his deal anyway? He wasn't this mean with you last year."

Ginny's thoughts were mirrored in Harry's mind, even though the latter knew that Snape's increased hostility was linked to Sirius Black. "Er, you see ... I think Snape's just mad that I didn't stop Black on Hallowe'en."

"Stop what?"

"Black. You know ... 'Sirius Black'?" It was then that Ginny went 'Ohhhh', and Harry continued. "Anyway, I doubt the Dementors will pull that stunt again; not after how angry I heard Professor Dumbledore was."

"He'd better be," said Ginny. "And you'd better be glad you were banned in the first place. Those Dementors were just horrible. Just standing there looking up." She gave a slight shiver. "Reminded me of when I was possessed, y'know?"

"I, er, made you this," said Harry, handing over a 'get well' card to his fellow Seeker.

"Does it sing?"

"Not a chance in hell." Harry looked partly amused at the question. "I was actually thinking of getting you a replacement broom, though."

"Don't be silly. You've got enough problems already."

They carried on talking until it was time for lunch, after which Harry met with his team in their locker room. The burly Beaters, Derrick and Bole, were shooting nasty looks at Draco while sitting on their usual corner bench; elsewhere, Keeper Miles Bletchley was juggling two Quaffles, Chasers Montague and Warrington were staring at the lockers across the room, and Captain Flint was simply furious — as expected.

Harry walked in just as Draco, who was sitting on his own corner bench, went on the defence. "Why are we discussing this again? _I _wasn't the one who went and gave our enemy a new broom," Draco said.

"You're the one whose dad gave us _those_," — Flint pointed towards the seven broomsticks hanging along the wall between the lockers — "and yet you still got beaten by a girl on a Two Thousand! A _Two Thousand_!"

"Which was given by Potter!" Draco said, shooting Harry a filthy look. "If that scum still had whatever Cleansweep rubbish she flew before, we'd've won!"

"It's not just that," said Warrington, his tone calm and composed. "It's the fact that you went around running your mouth about how much better you are than that 'dirty Weaslette' that made yesterday all the more embarrassing. Next time you boast like that, make sure you don't end up losing to the person you so blatantly insulted."

"You people do realise that Potter actually _visited _the Weaslette just now, right?" Draco asked, and Flint sighed.

"Man, just give it a rest already."

"Yeah," Harry said to Draco, "and quit calling her that. She won, you lost; end of story."

What followed was a continuation of yesterday's tactical talk (which Harry had missed), with the main issue being that the match had ended 270-70 in favour of Gryffindor. It felt so good for Harry to hear that Draco had his work cut out for him; because if Draco were to fail against Cho Chang in their next match, then he'd be almost solely responsible for ending Slytherin's Quidditch Cup winning-streak at last.

"Let's first see what happens between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw," said Bletchley. "And pay attention to Chang then, Malfoy."

"Why's everyone picking on me?"

"Because you keep picking on one little misdeed from Potter," said Flint. "Not nice when it's in reverse, eh?"

"I don't get it, though," said Draco, changing the topic. "We're going up against Ravenclaw next, and nobody's questioning Potter's new friendship with their main Seeker?"

Harry almost rolled his eyes. "I have this thing in my head called 'a brain' that allows me to know what I'm doing. We're in a school, you know, where people go around making friends and stuff."

"All right, boys," Flint said as he stood up, "let's get in some practice. Potter, you can still join us — and shut it, Malfoy."

* * *

In the days following Slytherin's defeat to Gryffindor, Harry chose to focus upon his academics instead of ruing over his missed match. He knew there was no dissuading Snape, not as the latter was all but furious over Black's escape on Hallowe'en.

"You could've earned yourself an Order of Merlin that night," Snape said after Monday's Potions class had ended, "or don't you have any ambition in life? Perhaps you belong in Gryffindor after all, Potter."

_Eat a dick._

Harry came across something rather odd later that week. Normally, there was nothing strange about passing Hermione Granger every now and then in the corridors, but today was different. Hermione was acting different. She snuck into an alcove, glanced around, and then withdrew an opaque bottle from which she drank.

"Um, Hermione," Harry said as he approached the alcove, "what's in that bottle?"

She looked very defensive while standing in her safe spot. "Why are you following me around?"

"Why are you drinking like an alcoholic?"

Hermione snorted, and then she poured a few drops of whatever was in the bottle onto her palm. "Here, put your big Potions-brain to use."

"Wideye Potion?" Harry asked while sniffing at Hermione's palm. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm. I take one almost daily to keep up the pace, especially when it comes to boring Trelawney. Anyway, I need to be off —"

"I'll walk you there," Harry said, to which Hermione smiled, shook her head, and excused herself to Trelawney's class. Then, just about ten minutes later, Harry crossed paths with Hermione yet again in this corridor. "What the —? Isn't Divination _that_ way?"

"Oh, um, have we met up today?"

"You were standing in that alcove sipping your potion just now."

Both students stared at each other until Hermione spoke. "Oh, yes, of course. Thanks for the reminder, Harry."

This was getting far too strange for Harry now, and all he could do was stop and stare until Hermione did something which caught him off guard: a quick little hug.

"There, now hurry off before you're late for your first class."

"I can't be late for a free period."

"Well, not all of us have that luxury, eh?" Hermione seemed a tad more pleasant than her earlier self. "Can we talk later? I need to get to Study of Ancient Runes on the double. Bye!"

"Yeah, sure — wait a minute ..." Harry spun around and called after Hermione. "How can you be with Trelawney and Babbling at the same time? The hell's going on around here?"

"Enjoy Herbology next!" she said, bringing a smile to Harry's face. Because, if Hermione cared enough to remember some of his schedule these days, surely that was a sign of good things to come, right?

Harry carried on with his day, and he later earned himself a smile in that afternoon's double Transfiguration class, where Professor McGonagall awarded him six points for his efforts. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to rely on others every once in a while after all?

It was during his free period on Friday morning that Harry decided to catch Professor Dumbledore en route to the latter's office. "Professor, I was wondering if we could maybe discuss the Dementors — if there's time? Professor Lupin's very busy at the moment."

Dumbledore paused as he neared his gargoyle statue, where Harry was already waiting. "Hmm, I think I'm due for some casual correspondence with the Wizengamot soon."

"I don't wish to distract you from your duties, Professor."

"Your distraction would be most welcome."

Once inside the office and seated at his Headmaster's desk, Harry told of his concerns regarding the Dementors — as well as of his and Ginny's susceptibility towards them.

"And that is all perfectly understandable," Dumbledore said in response while seated opposite Harry. "The Dementors, as you may have heard, are known to siphon away positive emotions in order to create their preferred environment of gloom and despair. They relish in it, which is also the primary reason as to why they affect you and Miss Weasley to such an extent. The two of you have suffered horrors in your pasts which many of your fellow students can scarcely imagine."

Harry had only one thing on his mind at that point. "There's got to be a way to resist them, right?"

There sure was, and Dumbledore proceeded to explain about using either Occlumency (an internal resistance) or the Patronus Charm (an external force) to protect oneself against the Dementors. Both methods were highly advanced forms of magic requiring hard work and loads of dedication.

"I'm willing to learn both, sir."

"Of course you can," said Dumbledore, "although my schedule only permits me to focus on Occlumency. I shall try to arrange us a starting date as quickly as possible, which I'd like you to do with Professor Lupin — for the Patronus Charm — as well."


	9. Defence Against the Dementors

Later that week saw Harry approach Professor Lupin, as instructed, for some anti-Dementor lessons. But until Lupin could locate another Boggart (which would likely turn into a Dementor for Harry), these lessons were put on hold — and Harry therefore followed up on his Occlumency instead.

"You're making this office your second home these days, eh?" Phineas asked, to which Harry ignored the remark. He had hoped that Dumbledore might find time in his busy schedule soon.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore was due for a few meetings with the International Confederation of Wizards throughout the rest of November, not to mention having some administrative tasks due for his role as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot too. All in all, the Headmaster was unable to finalise a consistent routine with Harry within that month, and he opted for December instead. "I could assign Professor Snape the task of teaching you in the meantime, if you do not mind."

Harry scratched the back of his hair and tried to find a polite way of saying 'Snape's a bitch these days'. "He's been a bit ... overbearing after what happened on Hallowe'en, sir."

"And who could blame him?" Dumbledore placed his elbows on his desk while speaking. "Perhaps it's only right that you be told more of the truth, although I must ask that you please try and understand what it is I'm about to tell you. In fact, I'd suggest using this as an opportunity for your first attempt at controlling your emotions." Whatever it was that Dumbledore was about to say, Harry got the feeling that it wasn't some happy-go-lucky kind of news — and he was right. "Sirius Black was chosen to be your godfather, which he remains to this day."

"What?"

"It was your parents' choice, of course. They appointed the person they felt was best suited to care for you in the event of them being incapable of doing so themselves. Sirius was, in fact, a notably good friend of your parents back then — or so we thought ..."

Harry listened — wide-eyed — as Dumbledore explained all about the Fidelius Charm and its Secret Keeper: Sirius Black. "He ... he betrayed them?"

"Indeed, for that is how Lord Voldemort entered your home. Now do you understand the, unfortunate, need for these Dementors around our school? The general consensus is that Sirius Black intends on finishing Lord Voldemort's attempts that night. And the truth is that you're not invincible, Harry; your mother's protection mainly serves to protect you from a Killing Curse from Lord Voldemort himself. Were it to come from someone else, however ..."

"What about the protections over my current home, then?"

"Ah, yes, that is more complex," said Dumbledore, smiling. He seemed to be eyeing Harry again, as if considering whether the latter was mature enough to be told certain things. "While you still call that place home, you cannot be harmed or attacked by Lord Voldemort or his followers. I know the Dursleys have never been the best of caregivers, Harry, but your aunt's willingness to accept you into her home is evidenced by the continuous protection you are afforded."

It'd be easy enough to lash out and accuse Dumbledore of dumping Harry with a bunch of hateful Muggles, but Harry knew better. His time in Slytherin had thus far shown him that nobody was perfect — and that everyone had their faults. There were now so many thoughts running through Harry's head that he didn't know where to start. "Are you sure Sirius Black's my godfather?"

"As sure as the Chudley Cannons are finishing at, or near, the bottom of the league again."

Quidditch ... if only Snape could pull that stick out of his arse and let Harry play already. "I don't think he's all that mad, sir."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sirius Black, I mean." Harry felt so damn sure of his assumptions here. "Everyone knows I'm no Gryffindor, and yet Black still went seven floors up in the wrong direction. And then there's that part about someone wanting to 'hurt' me, remember? Nothing makes sense."

That was true, given Dumbledore's puzzled expression. "Professor McGonagall has searched her common room numerous times over and found nothing amiss; nothing which might pique Sirius' interest," he said.

It was a dead-end discussion now, as neither Harry nor Dumbledore could uncover the mysteries behind Black's actions. But one thing was for certain, and that was the conflicting mix of emotions stirring within Harry. Yes, he was finally aware of the whole Secret Keeper thing, but why wasn't he feeling that justified hatred? Why was it that, after having heard all this, Harry now felt a strange desire to meet Sirius Black once more? Why did he feel the need to hear Black's side of the story, regardless of the foolishness in doing so? Black was still Harry's godfather, after all, and family came first.

Nevertheless, Harry saw out the rest of November while doing pretty much the same routine — although he didn't know whether to cheer or worry over Ravenclaw having flattened Hufflepuff at Quidditch.

"Talk about setting the pace," Flint said during Team Slytherin's final practice session that month. "You know what, Potter? Stay friends with Chang — and make sure to keep an eye on her movements and see where she's lacking. Fish out her strengths, weaknesses, and all that."

"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" Harry asked, imagining himself to be checking out Cho all the time.

"Analyse her reach, her turns, and how alert she can be on a day-to-day basis," said Flint. "Just watch the chick, man."

It was then that Draco cleared his throat. "That won't be very useful, considering that Potter's been banned again — not to mention that _I'm _the main Seeker these days," he said. "Potter should be eyeing Davies, Burrow, or Stretton instead. Or their Keeper: Grant Page, or even their Beaters."

What Draco didn't know was that Flint only kept him on the team because Harry had been so accommodating. Honestly, it wouldn't take too much from vault six hundred and eighty-seven to buy the whole team Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones again, if Draco were to relinquish their brooms in the event of being kicked off the team. Then again, Harry knew the Malfoys would probably throw their temper tantrums, in that case. They were still pretty pissed off at Dobby's freedom, after all, which explained Harry's diminished friendship with Draco since last year.

* * *

December arrived in a haze of rain, snow, and a bitter cold which swept across the grounds and into the castle as well. It was winter at its finest these days, with everyone preferring the comforts of their common rooms to the teeth-chattering cold elsewhere.

True to his word, Professor Dumbledore eventually set aside some time to begin Harry's first few steps into the art of Occlumency. This came about on the first Sunday of December; a day which saw Harry seated in a chair while barely resisting Dumbledore's basic Legilimency attempts. From here, the Headmaster weakened his efforts until reaching a level where Harry could comfortably build up a resistance.

"The Dementors tend to exert a depressing, negative state of mind to those nearby, which I'm sure you are well aware of by now," Dumbledore said in his office. "To resist such debilitating effects, it is crucial to close off your mind and let go of as many emotions as possible. Imagine, for a moment, that I am a Dementor seeking to invade your mind. _Legilimens!_"

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the thought of Dumbledore in an evil, hooded cloak. But his moment of amusement resulted in the office disappearing into ... the Hogwarts Express?

There was a boy seated alone in his compartment; his wand held aloft as he tried, and failed, to get his first spell going on the seat opposite him. _"Reparo ... REPAROOOOO!"_

"Goodness me, NO! You'll blow up the whole train at this rate!" a bushy-haired girl who'd suddenly appeared at the doorway said. "You're saying it wrong. It's Re-paa-ro; put some more emphasis on the 'paa'."

It was that first train ride all over again, with Harry watching his past play out like a movie before him.

"Oh, hello. Did you forget to brush your hair?" Harry (the younger one) asked, eliciting a most offended look from Hermione.

"That's just rude!" she said, turning on her heels. "This is how my hair normally is, goodbye!"

"No, wait!" Harry wasn't about to lose the closest thing he'd made to a friend. He'd never even got into conversation with a fellow Hogwarts student before. "I'm sorry!"

"Not interested," said Hermione, huffing as she stood with her back towards him. "You're rude."

"I didn't mean to make fun of your hair. It just —"

"Slipped out?" Hermione asked, spinning around to glare at him. "It's not like _your _hair's any different, er ..."

"Harry Potter."

"What?"

"That's my name," Harry said, and everything changed at that moment. He jumped back in his seat as Hermione tried to flick his bangs aside, and then she flopped onto the seat opposite Harry.

"You're Harry Potter!"

"Really? I didn't know," Harry said. "Now who's rude? You didn't even tell me your name."

"Hermione Jean Granger."

The rest, as they say, was history. Harry then saw flashes of when he and Hermione had discussed all sorts of things in that compartment — including himself, the wizarding world in general, as well as Hogwarts and its houses. Harry really liked the colour green (and, more importantly, so did Hermione) which was one of the main reasons as to him joining Slytherin — even though Hermione herself was hoping for Gryffindor.

The scene changed to when Harry was being Sorted, after which everything fizzled out as Dumbledore ended his Legilimency spell.

"Almost forgot I was a Hatstall," Harry said, and then he averted his gaze to the floor. "Sorry I couldn't resist that attempt, Professor."

"I'd like for you to ponder those memories long and hard, Harry. Think about how important they are to yourself, and how neither the Dementors nor anyone else has any right to intrude upon them."

They continued for well over half an hour, after which Harry ended his first session with a slight bit of resistance to Dumbledore's Legilimency efforts. It was a decent enough start, especially for a youngster with so many issues in their past.

The following evening saw Harry approach Ginny in the fourth-floor corridor after dinner. "Hey, er, I forgot to ask how you're keeping up in classes after last year," he said. "Need any help?"

Ginny's expression instantly brightened at Harry's concern. "Are you gonna tutor me? I could really use help in Transfiguration!"

"Who doesn't?" Harry smiled at his enthusiastic friend, whom he swiftly arranged to meet on the first Saturday of the new term.

Gobsmacked, Ginny turned around and happily continued on her way back to her common room upstairs, which left Harry to return to his own one down in the dungeons. And now, much like Ginny, it was Harry's turn to be astonished — as Pansy delivered the best news which Harry would hear all week.

"Guess what? Mom finally got approval to have you over for the holidays, and Alyssa's coming over too — so it'll be great fun!"

* * *

Harry skipped the second Hogsmeade trip of the year in order to complete as much of his holiday work as possible. There just wasn't much sense in visiting Hogsmeade anyway, seeing as Harry would then have to prepare his usual security measures against Black. So with all things considered, he spent his final Saturday of the term scribbling and researching in the library.

On Sunday, the 19th, he barely saw Ron, Hermione, or any of the Gryffindors in his year at breakfast. But Harry simply shrugged it off, finished his meal, and joined the hundreds of students headed for the horseless carriages — which took them to the Hogwarts Express parked at Hogsmeade station.

"Harry Potter! Wait up!" came the voice of a short-haired Hufflepuff boy — Wayne Hopkins — in Harry's year. "I got this from Lavender Brown — who got it from Professor McGonagall — to tell you the Weasleys would like you to visit after Christmas Day."

"Thanks for reminding us that my own pal can't even stay the whole holidays," said Pansy, scowling at the note in Harry's hand.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger!" said Hopkins, and then he backed off and made his way onto the train.

Tracey, meanwhile, held the parchment aloft before her oval glasses. "Looks like the Headmaster's handwriting, so maybe Dumbledore doesn't want Harry at your place all holidays long, Pansy. Probably thinks your mum's gonna turn him over to the Dark Lord or something."

"Bullshit, my mom's changed!"

"Er, you don't have any suspicious ghosts flying around in your area, right?" Harry asked while keeping his voice low. "No evil, spirity things? People acting strange?"

"No, no, and no."

"Look on the bright side," said Tracey, as Pansy sighed. "At least you got like, what, a week with him? And maybe some of us might come over too; it depends."

Pansy glared at her. "You _will _come over."

"I'll consider it ... maybe."

And so the group made their way down the crowded passage and into an empty compartment, where Harry placed himself in a corner — as usual. He preferred having a view of the entire room and watched as Pansy's gang discussed their holiday plans. But try as Pansy might, her roommates were just far too busy to guarantee a stay at her place.

"Sorry, but I'm meeting up with some family in Liverpool," said Sally-Anne. "Best city in Britain!"

"Don't stand around too long or you'll get knifed," said Harry. "Oh, er, sorry ... that's my uncle's kinda jokes."

"Hmph, bet that stupid Muggle hates us Scousers," said Sally-Anne, flicking her long brown hair in annoyance, "how about I knife him instead?"

"Let's hear another one!" said Daphne, who — unlike Sally-Anne — took no offence from the joke. "Do Manchester next!"

Harry thought back to Uncle Vernon's mealtime conversations. "He said if you're ever robbed by someone there, you can bet it's a foreigner."

"Really?" asked Daphne, who remained slouched in her seat while looking at Harry.

"Dunno," said Harry. "Not like I get to go around much."

"All right, sure, whatever ..." Pansy resumed her round of last-minute invitations. She gave Millicent a hopeful look, but the latter was already set to visit her favourite uncle in America.

"We'll still post you letters and stuff," Millicent said.

"What about you, Daphne?"

"I don't even know what our holiday plans are. Dunno."

"What _do _you know?" Tracey asked. "Um, you're welcomed to stay over at my place, though, if your folks end up doing boring stuff over in Wirral."

"Um, Tracey," Sally-Anne asked, eyeing her friend in a sceptical manner, "do you even have any holiday plans?"

"Er, of course I do! There's trees to set up, chores to be done, gifts to wrap —"

"What are you, a house-elf?" Millicent asked. "Why don't you tell us straight, then?"

"OK, fine!" Tracey threw herself back and crossed her arms. "All you guys got such fancy plans, and here I am doing who knows what! Daphne, _please_ come and visit so I don't have to see my annoying little brother all the time."

Harry kept shut and let the girls chat it out among themselves, after which it was decided that Tracey was better off with her own family over the holidays. She may have huffed and sighed, but the others knew that it was just a phase of jealousy passing through; one that they hoped would simmer down by the start of next term.

At some point during its journey, the train stopped to facilitate another search for Sirius Black — with a Dementor gliding through the passageway. It was then that Harry tried putting his rudimentary Occlumency skills to the test, especially as the Dementor refused to move away Harry's compartment.

"Piss off!" said Pansy, drawing her wand. "What part of that don't you understand?"

The others, including Harry, had their wands aimed at the Dementor as well, although they knew it was a useless effort. Then, all of a sudden, a silvery jack-rabbit soared through the passage and illuminated its surroundings as it drove off the Dementor.

"Was that a Patronus?" Harry asked, and then he saw a young, pink-haired witch appear at the doorway. "Was that yours?"

The witch, who was dressed in a stylish trench coat, nodded. She was about to speak when her dark, twinkling eyes immediately darted to Harry's forehead. "Blimey, are you —"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever!" said Sally-Anne. "Don't just stand there like a muppet! Can't you see Harry's not looking so well?"

"That's why I wear glasses, yeah," Harry said, and the young witch smiled.

"Got a sense of humour, eh? All right, sure. Have some chocolate." She waited until Harry ripped off part of the slab. "I'm a trainee Auror, you see, so that Dementor's under _my_ watchful eye."

"Oh really?" said an aggressive sort of voice from further down the corridor. "Great job so far!"

"Sorry! Gotta run! Nice meeting you, Harry."

And with that, the Auror-in-training sped off as a most strange-looking wizard passed by Harry's compartment. The man (or what was left of him) looked rather scarred, battle-worn, and had a wooden, claw-footed leg on one side. But the most telling thing of all was his electric blue eye, which moved independently from his normal one.

Harry waited until the wooden clunks of the man's limping grew fainter before whispering, "Does anyone know who those weirdoes were?"

"Yeah," said Pansy, "that's the former Auror, Alastor Moody, who Mom dodged several times back in the day. Not sure who that other one was, though. Maybe Moody's training her, or something?"

"Let's just sit back and chill," said Daphne. "Leave the Dementor and Auror talk behind."

The sun had long since set by the time the Hogwarts Express pulled into platform nine and three quarters. And given the dangers of Sirius Black being at large, Harry and Pansy found themselves meeting up with Mrs. Parkinson in no time.

Holly Parkinson was, much like her only child, a dark-haired witch with that same, mischievous expression whenever she smiled. She was over a foot taller than Pansy and preferred to wear her hair in an elegant bun. And if there was one thing which she excelled at, it was blending in with the Muggles, especially while taking taxi.

"What's with the owl in a cage?" asked the driver, and Mrs. Parkinson simply shrugged.

"Show-and-tell project at school."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I ain't picked up anyone else who got that kinda thing today —"

"Oh, look, your petrol's running low," Mrs. Parkinson said, and Harry had a fleeting suspicion that she'd somehow had a hand in that. "Might have to stop by a garage soon."

Their journey went on for miles, passing by countless street lamps, until Mrs. Parkinson suddenly requested that they stop — which baffled the driver. "Er, here, ma'am?"

"That's right. I'm expecting my own lift from here on out, thank you. Take a tip and enjoy your night."

And with that, the trio of Harry, Pansy, and Mrs. Parkinson exited the taxi (with their luggage, of course) somewhere far outside the city of London. They were now standing in the middle of nowhere, and Harry had no idea what the hell was going on at this point. He just followed the pair as they stepped off the road, made their way past a few trees, and soon reached what looked like a secluded patch of field ... somewhere.

Harry could only hope that Pansy's mother wasn't about to do anything foolish, especially considering that she used to be a Death Eater. But, then again, Harry honestly doubted that Voldemort could be summoned whilst still in spirit form.


	10. Pansy's Place

"Is this where you people live? Out here near the road?" Harry asked, and Pansy urged him to remain silent — for her mother was now deep in thought.

Then, after a few minutes of awkward silence, Mrs. Parkinson finally spoke. "This might be a bit tricky, so, for all our sakes, don't squirm or do anything stupid."

"Mom hasn't exactly Apparated two people, two trunks, and a caged owl together for quite some time," Pansy said to Harry. "We live way up north, you see, so we didn't wanna use too much Muggle stuff." She seemed completely unfazed by standing out here in the middle of nowhere, in the dark. "They take dreadfully long ... hours, in fact. So Mom used the taxi to get us out of the busy areas and shave off some kilometres from our journey as well —because Side-Along-Apparition isn't easy at all."

"I think we're about a quarter way towards home by now," said Mrs. Parkinson, "so that leaves a few hundred k's left. Grab hold and be calm, little Potter, for you're about to get your first taste of Apparition."

"Second, actually," said Harry, reminding them of how Dumbledore had retrieved him last year — back when Harry was stuck at the Dursleys (thanks to Dobby). "All right, I'm ready."

"Me too," Pansy said. "Let's go!"

Mrs. Parkinson held both students by the hand. "Got your owl, Potter? Both of you got your trunks? Good."

Like toothpaste through a tube, Harry felt himself being pulled through the Side-Along-Apparition until, eventually, arriving at their destination. It was dark and cloudy all around, except for some lights in the distance — which was likely the outskirts of a village.

"Urgh, where are we?" Harry asked, feeling a tad nauseous.

"Almost home," said Pansy, and she gestured for Harry to follow Mrs. Parkinson down a narrow street before heading down a picketed pathway on the right. From here, it was a short walk beneath the light of a few street lamps until Harry saw a sizable cottage up ahead.

"And here I was expecting a manor, or something," he said.

"Oh hush," said Pansy. "Unlike Draco, my ancestors never kissed Muggle butt to get favours. So we never had any big, fancy landed-estates."

"I didn't know the Malfoys —"

"It's best to pretend that you don't know; very few do, actually," said Mrs. Parkinson.

The Parkinsons' cottage resembled most other countryside dwellings, except that it was bigger and more spacious. Its large expanse of land was bordered by hedges and trees, affording the family a good deal of privacy.

"Make sure he's all settled in by midnight," Mrs. Parkinson said. "I'm going to get some rest, so, try not to make too much noise, OK?"

"Yes, Mom." Pansy followed her mother down an old, paved driveway until climbing a couple steps to enter their home. There was a long hallway leading down to a T-junction, at which a flight of stairs led to the first floor. "Hey, we're not going upstairs yet, silly. Lounge is this way."

Harry stepped through the doorway on his right to enter a large, rustic-themed living room — where a young witch stirred from her nap on the couch nearest the fireplace. She got up, stretched out, and stood with her back to the bright glow of orange in this dimly lit room. "What took you guys so long?" she asked. "Wait, is that Harry Potter I see?"

"Yep," said Pansy, and her cousin quickly rounded the couch to shake Harry's hand.

Alyssa was essentially a taller version of Pansy but with longer hair and cold blue eyes (as opposed to Pansy's green). "Pleasure to meet you, Harry" — she yawned — "Potter. Whew, been a long day for us."

"Pleased to meet you too," Harry said. "So, you staying over to keep Pansy company over here?"

"Ha, well, there's that and me doing a holiday assignment with Miss France upstairs."

"Miss who?" Harry asked, and then he saw the two cousins shoot each other an amused glance. "What you people hiding from me?"

"Don't feel bad if she laughs at you," Pansy said, as the two girls proceeded to give Harry a tour of the ground floor. "She's very ... 'haughty' I'd say."

From what Harry could remember, the ground floor mainly consisted of many rooms (including the kitchen, living room, guest toilets, etc.) linked via the T-shaped hallway. He was then taken up the staircase, at the T-junction of the hallway, to the first floor — which consisted of a few bedrooms, a bathroom, and a spacious study room. There was also an ornate window straight down the hallway, overlooking the front section of grounds outside.

"Could we play Quidditch, or something, out there?" Harry asked. "Those trees and hedges can give us some good cover, right?"

"Our whole plot's got powerful Muggle-Repelling Charms and stuff on it," said a proud Pansy. "It's a bit different in that the Muggles _do_ see our house but don't really see us outside. They know we live here, though."

Alyssa added her say as well. "We gotta keep up with the ever-evolving Muggles, you see?" She yawned again. "Dad and his friends know that stuff quite well, and Mum says they got all the mystery departments working against the Muggles and their technology."

"So why do you say 'Mum' when Pansy insists on 'Mom'?" Harry asked, and Alyssa laughed.

"'Cos she thinks she's special — which she is to me, of course." (That brought a bright smile to Pansy's face.)

"Right, OK," said Harry, "so tell me what's the most advanced thing the Muggles have at this point?"

"Well, their net-surf thing is gaining real popularity this year," Alyssa said as the trio walked down the hallway, "something about a 'Mosaic', or whatever. Not to worry, though; we've got people on the inside giving us _all_ the juicy ways of countering it, even image-uploads."

Harry was then taken towards a door on the left side further up the hallway, where Pansy lowered her voice and said, "Ta-da! Here's the witch who acts like a —"

"Hey, don't be rude," said Alyssa, opening the door and peeking into the room. "Come out here for a sec, would you? Someone wants to meet you."

Just a few seconds later, a girl with long, silvery blonde hair (that fell to her waist) exited the room. She had large, deep blue eyes, was wearing a dark blue tracksuit, and had a very elegant look about her. And the moment she laid on eyes on Harry, she broke into a suppressed laugh that came out like a lengthy snort. "'Oo's zis? Are we feeding 'omeless children over Chreestmas now?" she asked in a throaty accent.

"Hey, what?"

"What did I tell you, Harry?" Pansy said, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms. "This is Fleur Delacour, from France, who she thinks she's too good for this place."

"I'm only 'ere to finish my joint-assignment, which ees taking terribly long," Fleur said, and then she looked at Alyssa beside her. "No, seeriously, 'oo is zis unbrushed boy you've brought with you?"

"_This_ is Harry Potter ..." said Pansy, although Harry wasn't paying much attention to the rest. He was just staring at the haughty, tall girl standing with the air of someone being of noble descent. That would certainly explain a lot.

"'And zey say I'm rude?" Fleur said, raising a brow and nodding towards Harry. "Look at 'im just staring at me. 'Ave you not explained to 'im about Veelas and all zat?"

"Er, I might have forgotten," said Pansy, looking guilty as she chuckled. "Lemme show you to your room, Harry. You can chat with Fleur in the morning."

Harry's room was furthest down the first-floor hallway, just before reaching the scenic window overlooking the front grounds below. It had a soothing, rustic feel about it, and there were a few Slytherin banners hanging around — whose green and silver contrasted nicely with the panelled walls and wooden floor.

"You can use the bathroom or just use a bucket and magic to wash; it's your choice," said Pansy, beaming. "No more living like a Muggle outside school!"

"Hey, what's with that Fleur girl?" Harry asked, and then he listened as Pansy explained all about Fleur's Veela heritage. "No wonder she's so arrogant. Can't believe she laughed at me."

"Don't take it personally; she's always a bitch. Or maybe she just thinks you're cute, dunno." Pansy shrugged and bid Harry goodnight before exiting the room.

Fleur thought he was cute? Well, that brought a smile to Harry's face, and he finished his cleaning charms in no time (it felt good to use magic outside of school) before tucking himself beneath the cosy, beige blankets at last.

* * *

The sun had long since risen by the time Harry climbed out of bed and freshened up for the day ahead. Then he exited his room, turned right, and walked down the hall until descending the staircase. Where was the kitchen again?

"Lost already?" came the voice of Fleur Delacour on Harry's right. She was standing at the corner of the T-junction in the ground-floor hallway, her blue eyes fixed on Harry. "You sleep as late as my little sister, Gabrielle, sometimes does. Kitchen is straight down ze passage and last door on your right before reaching ze front doors."

Harry couldn't take his eyes off Fleur, and she ended up rolling hers.

"Eet is basically opposite ze door to ze living — _Merde_, I'll just take you zair, zen." Fleur shook her head and led Harry down the passage and into the earthy themed kitchen, where she sat herself comfortably at the wooden table (in the centre of the room). "What are you looking for, little Potter?"

Silence once more, until Harry finally plucked up the courage to speak. "I, um, heard you're a Veela."

"Quarter-Veela, 'Arry Potter. And I 'eard you've caught on lots of nonsense at your school. Sit down and tell me about it, zen. Or should we get _la mère de cette maison_ 'erself to make you breakfast?"

Confused, Harry took a seat and blinked. "Sorry, what?"

"Ze muzzer of zis place, zat is." Fleur was as cool and calm as ever, regardless of Harry's stares and confusion. "She ees outside at ze moment, playing mostly Non-Magique games wiz Alyssa and Pansy. Non-Magique is, of course, ze French way of saying 'Muggle', in case eet is not obvious enough already."

Harry stood up to have a look out one of the kitchen's windows, giving him the perfect view of a snowy expanse of lawn bordered by hedges and trees in the distance. He also spotted the trio of Parkinsons shooting marbles into a small hole dug into the snow. "Wish someone could make me breakfast," Harry said, even though he was perfectly capable of doing so himself. "I'm hungry."

"Nice to meet you," said Fleur. "Now ask nicely."

"Can you _please _make me something to eat?"

Fleur stood up and sauntered over to prepare a decent breakfast, which she (gently) sent his way with a wave of her wand thereafter. "Now eat finish and tell me about life at zat miserable school of yours — and no talking with food in your mouth."

"Why do you say 'zz' instead of 'th' sometimes?" Harry asked.

"Zat is almost exactly what Alyssa asked when we first met, in second-year," said Fleur, taking little offence to the question. "Eet is called an 'accent', of course."

"I knew that."

"And zat is what Alyssa said as well. Did she put you up to asking me?"

Averting his gaze, Harry carried on eating while Fleur carried on watching him. It was quite unnerving, actually. "Quit staring at me when I eat."

"Quit staring at me in general, zen, puny Potter."

"Don't call me that, please."

And so they spent the rest of their morning discussing a wide variety of topics, with Harry answering as many questions as he could without revealing anything too confidential. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this haughty foreigner just yet, and so he decided to take things one day at a time. Last thing he needed was for Fleur to poke fun at him with her legions of family and friends back home.

After breakfast, Harry wandered around the cottage and later spent some time in the cold, where he practised making a snowman alongside Fleur and the Parkinsons. Once that was finished, Mrs. Parkinson amused the group by duplicating their efforts and having the snowmen smash each other to bits. It was a terrific day overall, and not even the howling winds or freezing rain which started in the afternoon could dampen Harry's mood.

"Go hog your own place at home," Pansy said to Fleur that evening, as the group of four were lounging in the living room, with Fleur having moved her chair ahead of everyone else at the fireplace. "Alyssa, tell her to go home if she keeps acting like this."

Alyssa looked up while lying at the other end of their long couch. "Huh, what? Sorry, I was busy reading over here."

The sounds of cooking could be heard coming from the kitchen, across the hallway, behind the group. And even though he'd been here for nearly a day already, Harry still found it puzzling that Mrs. Parkinson did all this by herself.

"You sure you don't need a house-elf around here?" Harry asked, and Pansy shook her head.

"Nope, but we could use a bit more heat, don't you think?" And then she stood up, crossed the living room, and entered a small storage room in the corner. "Let's see ... aha!"

"That's not gonna work, and you know it," Alyssa said, as Pansy carried a little halogen heater in her arms. "Put it away, Little P."

"Don't boss me around."

"I still can't believe you people have working electricity here," said Harry, to which Pansy nodded.

"Yep, it's a good way to keep up to date with our enemies." Then she plugged in the heater, placed it behind Fleur's chair (to face Harry), and switched it on. But just minutes after the bars had started glowing, they fizzled out once more. "Mom! You're using too much magic again!"

"You need to calm down, little girl," said Fleur.

Seconds later saw Mrs. Parkinson enter the living room, with three self-stirring pots hovering in her wake. Then she smiled in a soft, patient manner towards her daughter. "Don't be silly, sweetheart; you know there's not enough magic in this place to properly interfere with Muggle technology."

Scowling, Pansy picked up the heater and shook it. "But what's wrong, then? It doesn't want to stay on."

"Just like your brain," muttered Fleur, who ended up being ignored by the rest.

"Maybe it's just broken?" Harry asked, rubbing his chin while staring at the heater. "Could've been left off for too long, maybe."

"Fleur, just give the others some heat," Mrs. Parkinson said, ending the situation in a diplomatic manner as she returned to the kitchen. The group of four then spent the rest of their evening discussing Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Quidditch, Sirius Black, as well as the local area (Northumberland) in general.

"Tomorrow we'll play Stick Swords," Pansy said to Alyssa, while a baffled Harry glanced at Fleur.

"What?"

"Eet is a silly game zey play at ze border, zese two." Fleur gave a derisive little snort while wrapped in a blanket near the fireplace. "Trust me when I say zat it is silly, Potter."


	11. Life at the Parkinsons

The following morning saw Harry exit the house alongside Pansy, Fleur, and Alyssa as they stepped out into another rain-forecasted day. They hung around the cottage's drenched grounds before heading down the pathway leading out the wrought-iron front gates. From here, Harry followed the girls as they trudged across more snowy grass in the area around the Parkinsons' plot.

"Man, this is completely different from where I live," said Harry, as he surveyed Pansy's house from afar. The sizable cottage, as well as its tall hedges and trees, stood alone in this vast expanse of countryside; its nearest neighbours being a fair distance away.

Alyssa smiled as the group of four continued across the open fields. "Bet you're used to living like sardines in a can, eh? I hear Little Whinging's got tons of identical houses stacked on top of one another."

"Yeah, that's right," said Harry, taking a moment to appreciate the countryside and its beautiful horizon, where the distant fields, hills, and houses touched the cloudy skies. "And here comes the drizzle again."

The group of four were already prepared for such weather, which is why they'd brought along their cagoules for today.

"Zis British weather is maddening!" said Fleur, pulling up her hood and turning to speak with Harry. "Back in France, we 'ave sunshine almost all year long — unlike zis terrible weather over 'ere. Ze skies are clear, ze air is warm, and eet is seemply _perfect_ all ze time. We also 'ave all ze best fruits, vegetables, and treats in ze 'ole wide world."

"Oh, wow, really?"

"Bullshit," said Alyssa, scoffing at the smirking Fleur. "She's lying to you, Harry; just look at that smile. I've lived in all three countries long enough to know that England, Scotland, and France are fairly similar in climate."

"But France eez warmer in our summers, yes?"

Pansy barged her way into this conversation. "Perhaps, but only because you people are closer to the equator."

"And it's only the southern areas of France that are really hotter than here, especially in summer," Alyssa said to Harry. "You should take Fleur's words with a pinch of salt."

It wasn't too much of a walk until they reached one section of the Anglo-Scottish border; just over a kilometre from Pansy's house. "And now, we shall search for sticks!" said Pansy, and Harry almost laughed.

"You'll see," said Alyssa, as she searched around the fields and bushes for any form of play-weapon. Then, after a few minutes, both Parkinsons returned with arm-length sticks in hand. "So, Little P, which side will you be this time?"

Pansy hopped between two patches of grass from either country, while considering her choices. "England ... Scotland ... Good guy? Bad guy?"

"Hey, that's not funny," Alyssa said, to which Pansy giggled and finally chose her side.

"En garde thee, Evil Scotsman!"

Alyssa drew her 'sword' as well. "Thy land is mine!"

Bemused, Harry watched as the two cousins charged at each other and started their swordfighting with sticks. They were surprisingly good at it too, suggesting that this was definitely not the first time they'd fooled around out here.

"OK, um, cool ... I guess," Harry said, and then he saw Fleur groan and look to the skies above. "You all right?"

"If not for my work, I would 'ave left."

"I got you now, bad guy!" Pansy said, only to be grabbed into a headlock by her taller cousin. "Lemme go!"

"Not until you let my village go, Evil Englishman!"

"Never! For Queen and Country!" Pansy broke free and swung her stick yet again, which Alyssa parried in return.

"Weak."

"You're weak," replied Pansy, pointing her stick at Alyssa. "Super weak."

"You're incomprehensibly weak, Evil Englishman."

"And you're a One-Year-Ravenclaw, Evil Scotsman."

And so on and so forth went the border skirmish until, finally, it was time for the group to return home. They brisk-walked across the countryside, through a worsening downpour, as another thunderstorm was on its way.

"Feeling cold?" Fleur asked, to which Harry nodded as he walked beside her. "Well, maybe zey can dry you off wiz a nice bit of charmwork soon. I am not your babysitter."

Upon their return to the cottage, the group rushed inside and dried themselves off. For the older students, this was as simple as doing a Hot-Air Charm on each other — although Harry and Pansy had to watch (and learn) from Mrs. Parkinson instead.

"Nice wand, ma'am," Harry said, noting the long and elegant appearance of Mrs. Parkinson's wand. It definitely performed as expected, considering how swiftly she dried the two third-years off in the hallway.

"Willow and dragon heartstring, Potter. Oh, and I fixed that heater just now, by the way."

"Really?" Pansy looked up at her mother. "How'd you get that right? I tried over and over, but my Mending Charm just couldn't get the job done."

"Then maybe you should've read the instruction manual first and browsed some other electronic books as well," Mrs. Parkinson said as she wrapped a warm scarf around her daughter's neck. "Those tend to help with placing a proper Mending Charm on Muggle appliances."

Today's lunch featured a generous helping of soups and stews, with even Fleur failing to criticise anything on the table.

"So," said Alyssa, seated beside Pansy and opposite Harry, "got any plans for Quidditch when you get back?"

Harry shrugged and gazed at the rain-splashed window behind Alyssa. "I don't know, really; Snape's still so angry over what happened on Hallowe'en."

"Can't say I'm surprised," said Mrs. Parkinson, who had been a couple years ahead of Harry's parents back when they were still at school. "Used to be some real bad stuff between Snape and your father's group."

"And zis Sirius Black man was one of ze late Papa Potter's friends, correct?" Fleur asked, after having discussed some of that yesterday.

"Oh yes. They were something else, those two," Mrs. Parkinson said. "Inseparable, uncontrollable, and mischievous to no end. But when it came to Snape, well, let's just say that he used to be pretty jealous of James' Quidditch talents —"

"And yet, he still put Harry on the team," said Pansy, although quickly apologising for having interrupted her mother.

"Because it was the proper thing for a Head of House to do," said Mrs. Parkinson. "Would've made no sense to avoid training a first-year with such skills. Anyway, Snape's grudge wasn't just about Quidditch, Potter. Your father basically attacked him after their Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. I was right there, you see, trying to get some fresh air while studying for my N.E.W.T.s."

To be fair, Harry might've felt some sympathy for Snape had the latter not bullied him in return. "Did they duel? What happened?"

"Snape probably deserved whatever 'happened'," muttered Alyssa, scowling. "Never liked him in first year. Even McGonagall was better."

"Zey would nevair tolerate a bully-teacher like zis Snape man at our school, eh? Madame Maxime would put 'im in 'is place."

"From what I can remember," said Mrs. Parkinson, leaning back in her seat at the head of the table, "James disarmed Snape, caught him in an Impediment Jinx, taunted him, and then got upset once Snape started swearing and yelling all sorts of nasty words. I think your mother tried to stand up for Snape then, Potter."

"_What?_ Are you sure, ma'am?" Harry asked, although Mrs. Parkinson shrugged.

"There were far too many students crowding around and making a noise, so I got up and left. But, I can remember Snape being pretty pissed off in the common room that evening, and that he said something about going to Gryffindor Tower to 'sort things out' then."

"Did he?" Harry asked, feeling a sense of anger at the thought of Snape attacking his father.

"Just give me a moment to remember; this was years ago ..." Mrs. Parkinson frowned in thought. "... I remember Snape saying he was going to wait outside Gryffindor Tower all evening, if that's what it took. Funny thing is how he refused any help and said it was for the best that he went alone. He sure as hell came back looking very disappointed, though."

Harry felt a tingle of pride. "Probably couldn't get an opportunity to attack my dad, yeah."

The rest of his afternoon was spent wandering around the house again, where Harry had a look through each of the ground-floor rooms. These included a lavish master bedroom, a cosy study room, a staircase leading to the cellar, a few bathrooms, and a spare room as well. And it was no surprise that every single one of them had an earthy theme — with soft, pleasant colours to match.

If it weren't for the persistent storm that had drenched the cottage's grounds all morning, Harry would certainly be hanging about outside. But since he had little else to do now, he chose to spend the rest of his day finishing his History of Magic assignment; a tedious task for sure.

Wednesday brought little in the way of clear skies, as the clouds remained unchanged since yesterday's downpour.

"Anyone know the basic types of precipitation?" Mrs. Parkinson asked, as the group sat in their comfortably heated kitchen that morning. "Let's hear it."

"There's rain, snow, and 'freezing rain' ... which my uncle says causes madness on the roads," said Harry, while Pansy placed her elbows on the wooden table as she spoke.

"What about a blizzard?"

"That's more a type of storm, really," said Mrs. Parkinson. "OK, so you get different precipitation depending on the amount of warmth between the clouds and the ground. Everything starts as snow in the clouds, and when the air's warm enough all the way down, then you just get rain. However, if there's enough coldness on or near the ground, then that rain can freeze on contact; hence freezing rain."

"I think I know the next coldest one," said Alyssa. "When the warm air's too shallow to keep the snow melted all the way down, then it tries to refreeze. But it often ends up as a softer snow called 'sleet'."

"So, it's basically rain, freezing rain, and sleet so far," said Pansy. "What's the next coldest one?"

Harry almost laughed. "Snow, of course."

"Nobody gonna mention hail or ice pellets?" Alyssa asked.

"Let us not get too complicated," said Fleur. "'Ail is when ze stuff mixes and freezes around dust in ze air, and eet is usually bigger zan ice pellets, I theenk ..."

As intriguing as it may be, Harry wondered why they were even discussing such a random topic in the first place, and then he remembered that Mrs. Parkinson had a fondness for teaching. This was further emphasised later in the morning, while Harry and Pansy sat doing their homework in the latter's bedroom.

"What's the limits of _Finite Incantatem_?" Pansy asked while sitting at a study table in her room. "How does one distinguish between choosing that counter-spell or a specific one?"

"Let me see what you've got ..." Mrs. Parkinson sat down, reviewed their work, and went over some magical theory as well.

"Boring essay ... done!" said Pansy. "Can I give you a French braid now, Mom?"

"As long as you promise to double-check your work later on," replied Mrs. Parkinson, taking a seat at Pansy's dressing table. "And why not get Alyssa to come up here too? I'm sure she'd appreciate a change of style these days."

While the trio of Parkinsons spent the rest of their morning up on the first floor, Harry chose to head downstairs to the living room — which was mostly quiet, save for the sounds of parchment being cut up by Fleur.

"What's up?" Harry asked as he entered the room. He watched as Fleur (who was sitting at the table near the window, on Harry's right) carried on making palm-sized squares with her cutting. She then dipped her quill into some ink and started drawing ... something on her parchment squares.

"Why do you look so confused, Potter?"

"I'm trying to figure out what you're doing."

"Take a guess, zen," Fleur said, shuffling her parchment squares as if they were a pack of ...

"Cards?"

"Yes. My little sister is not yet in school, so she eez learning ze basics at 'ome." Fleur held up a square for Harry to see. "Zis one, as you should know, is ze wand movement for ze Mending Charm, _Reparo_. I find zat zis is a good way to pass ze time while I am stuck 'ere in zis terribly cold place working with Alyssa. She refused to not come over to see 'er cousin again, you see."

"Most of my homework tends to be alone," said Harry, and Fleur nodded.

"So I've 'eard. But when you reach ze year of your first beeg exams, like me now, you will look forward to spreading ze workload wiz a partner. Oh, wait, I almost forgot zat you 'Ogwarts people do your first beeg exams in your fifth year, which is silly."

Harry didn't know why, but he felt perfectly content with listening to Fleur talk — or complain — about anything. "Kinda silly, yes, but that's how our system works. It's necessary to get into our advanced classes for the next two years."

After a few seconds of silence, Fleur pushed a handful of blank squares towards Harry. "Make yourself useful, Monsieur; I will tell my sister zat zose ones came from ze Boy 'Oo Lived."

_No pressure then_, Harry thought, as he got to work in drawing up a few first-year-level flashcards for Gabrielle Delacour. In truth, Harry found this method of studying rather interesting, and he made a mental note to try it out at some point in the future.

With the rain finally subsiding by Thursday, Harry spent most of his time in the cottage's backyard. It was at least double the size of a Hogwarts courtyard, and the thick, tall trees around did wonders for privacy. Then there were the protective enchantments surrounding the grounds, which somehow obscured anything magical from being seen by Muggles and their impressive range of technology.

Flying was the name of the game today, and it hardly mattered that Pansy had a mere Comet Two Sixty — Harry was all too happy to hop onto a broom and take to the skies (or as high as Mrs. Parkinson would allow). He also couldn't help but show off some of his skills, especially by broom-surfing around the yard.

"What a little child," Fleur said as she laid on a reclining chair near the back porch of the cottage. "Eez 'e always like zis?"

Pansy nodded. "Yep, totally."

"Ha! Don't forget that I used to be one of the best in my flying class too," Alyssa said, looking mighty proud of herself while leaning against the wall. "Hooch always thought I'd make the team someday."

Watching Harry fly about made Fleur snort in amusement. "Well, at least 'e is enjoying 'imself." And then she got an idea and smiled, especially as she saw Harry chasing after Hedwig in the air. "Watch what I do wiz zis stone."

"Please don't throw him," said Pansy, gasping as Fleur summoned a walnut-sized pebble from the small garden nearby. "What are you doing?"

Alyssa gave the slightest of chuckles. "Stop panicking, Little P; Fleur's not gonna hurt your precious boyfriend ... right?"

"Right," said Fleur, holding the stone in her hand while casting a few spells on it, until it resembled a shade of gold. Then she added a Levitation Charm and stood up from her seat. "'Ey, Potter! Pretend zat zis is a Golden Snitch!"

After apologising to Hedwig (who flew off in search of insects in the snowy grass), Harry chased down the stone as Fleur kept it away from him in mid-air — much like a game of cat and mouse. It wasn't easy, especially as Harry had grown used to flying the Nimbus line of brooms; and Fleur wasn't making things any easier with her expert use of the Levitation Charm right here.

"Know what this reminds me of?" Alyssa asked as she watched Harry chase down his elusive target. "A cat chasing a laser pointer, hahahaha!"

Whether from Pansy's outdated broom or Fleur's graceful control of the stone, Harry was having a tough time catching his substitute Snitch. But, after another five minutes of keeping up with Fleur's spellwork, Harry soon caught it in a dive near a far corner of the yard.

"See?" said Pansy. "He'll beat any of your Beauxbatons players."

Fleur ceased her charm and reverted the stone to its natural state. "Oh, OK. I suppoze 'e is good on a cheap broom."

The following morning saw Harry assist the Parkinsons with their Christmas preparations, most notably by setting up their multicoloured lights outside. Just seeing this blatant display of electricity was rather odd, in Harry's opinion, seeing as how the Parkinsons were a well-known family of old.

"Why not hide your whole plot under some wards instead of trying to blend in with the Muggles, ma'am?" Harry asked, causing Mrs. Parkinson to wince as she stood on the front porch.

"Ugh, I can't stand that term. Makes me think of a hospital," she said, waving her wand to secure the front row of lights across her house. "Please don't say that again, OK? It's protective 'charms' or 'enchantments', Potter, but never ever 'wards'."

"And besides," said Pansy, who had finished setting up the Christmas tree inside — with Alyssa and Fleur, "it wouldn't make sense to try and hide everything around here. Someone might just see us coming home at some point, which would totally spoil our hidey-charms."

Harry wondered just who in the world would see the Parkinsons coming home around here, seeing as it was mostly vast, open expanses of farmland all around. But then he remembered that times would change, and there was no guarantee that the Muggles wouldn't build a few more roads nearby as well. "Maybe set up some enchantments and Apparate into them when you're coming home?" he asked. "Nobody would see you then. I'm sure that's something the Malfoys, for example, would do."

"Ah, yes, the Malfoys ..." Mrs. Parkinson smiled. "They are like the stiffest trees in the wind, while my family tries to be like the bamboo tree instead. Did I get that right, dear?"

"Totally," said Pansy, and then she looked at Harry. "It's taken from a Muggle quote."

And with that, Mrs. Parkinson explained all about why it was best to not completely hide their cottage out here. "... so perhaps that would've worked a hundred years ago; but, coming into the twenty-first century soon, we should try to blend in and adapt to the ever-changing world around us."

"That only goes for wizarding homes, by the way," said Pansy, "not big, magical places like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, etc."

Once the clock neared ten in the morning, Alyssa and Fleur exited the house and stood beside its front door. "Are we ready to leave, Meesus Parkinson?" Fleur asked.

"Certainly."

And that was when Fleur kissed Harry once on each cheek, leaving almost burning sensations upon them. "_Au revoir_, child! And stay safe from ze evil Black man!"

Harry could only wonder what kind of jokes Uncle Vernon would make had he heard those last few words. "See you, Fleur."

"See you young ones again tomorrow!" Alyssa said, hugging both Harry and Pansy before heading down the driveway with Mrs. Parkinson.

With little else to do, Harry spent the rest of his day triple-checking his work and hanging out with Pansy, which felt vaguely similar to being back at school.

"So, um, how's it been here so far?" Pansy asked while sitting beside Harry at the kitchen table. "I hear the Weasleys have this _huge_ piece of land to play on and stuff."

Harry smiled. "Relax, man; your house isn't boring at all."

Christmas Eve came and went in a haze of dinner, gift-sending, singing (which Harry politely backed away from), and all sorts of fun and games as the night moved on. It was far better than anything he'd experienced back at Privet Drive or, perhaps, even his first two Christmases at Hogwarts.

"All right, children," Mrs. Parkinson said in the kitchen, as she levitated a bunch of broken appliances onto the table, "I'll need you to repair all of these just in case we get a few Muggle visitors tomorrow."

Pansy frowned. "That doesn't make much sense, Mom."

"And neither does your Charms performance, sweetheart."

Harry and Pansy spent the rest of their night fine-tuning their Mending Charms to work on these intricate Muggle objects. It may not have been how they planned on spending their Christmas Eve, but it was a useful learning experience nonetheless.

* * *

Christmas had finally arrived, and Harry scrambled to open up his pile of presents at last. These included a bunch of Quidditch-related gifts from Pansy and her gang, some treats from Hagrid, a pair of old socks from the Dursleys, as well as a few odds and ends wrapped up from whoever else. And as for Pansy, she pretty much got her usual range of gifts ... from her usual group of senders.

It must've been nearly an hour after breakfast, once Harry had returned to his bedroom, when he heard familiar voices coming from downstairs. Pansy heard them too, as she then gasped and widened her eyes.

"School staff?" Harry asked, equally surprised. "Do they usually come over for Christmas?"

"Never."

They rushed downstairs and made their way down the ground-floor hallway, while the voices grew more discernible from the living room.

"... nothing so far, but this'll take a few weeks — at the very least — to strip," said Mrs. Parkinson.

"A necessary precaution," said the voice of Professor Flitwick.

Harry rounded the corner and saw, to his astonishment, the trio of Flitwick, Madam Hooch, and Mrs. Parkinson crowded around ... a broom?

"Happy Christmas to you, Mr. Potter," said Madam Hooch. "And a very happy one, too, by the looks of it."

"Is that a —"

"Firebolt," said Flitwick, "which is why Mrs. Parkinson had called us over immediately ..." He then explained how the broom had arrived anonymously by owl — which was a most suspicious occurrence, especially given the cost of the Firebolt itself. "For safety's sake, Potter, we'll need to strip it down and check it for anything amiss. Shouldn't take more than a few weeks or so."

That seemed reasonable enough for Harry, who watched as the two staff-members took the broom and left the house. Then, seconds later, two 'pops' could be heard from beyond the front gate.

"Wow," said Pansy, standing in the hallway. "Who do you think's splashed over a thousand Galleons on you? That's nuts!"

"Definitely not the Malfoys," said Mrs. Parkinson. "I called them this morning to confirm."

Harry sighed. "Five Galleons says Malfoy will show up with a Firebolt of his own at school; just you watch."

"Yeah, he'll think you're after 'his' Seeker position again," said Pansy, groaning. "Because it wouldn't make sense for just one Chaser to have such a crazy-fast broom."

Slowly but surely did the Parkinsons' guests arrive at the cottage as the day moved on. And there were so many handshakes and meet-and-greets that Harry could barely keep up with, let alone remember, all of these names and faces. Some were of the same surname, of course, such as Alyssa and her family of four (which included her fifteen-year-old brother), while others ranged from being Greengrasses to who knew what else as well.

Alyssa's brother, Winfield, was a pretty laid-back young wizard, and he very much resembled his dark-haired, fair-skinned sister in both looks and attitude. And as for Alyssa's parents, they were some right decent sort, in Harry's opinion. Then there were those from Holly Parkinson's side, which included some of Daphne's extended family as well, many of whom were friendly enough for Harry's liking.

Regardless of which side was chatting, in turn, with Harry at the kitchen table, they were all equally keen on hearing as much about the Boy Who Lived as possible. There was nothing wrong with being a celebrity; Harry, in fact, relished and basked in his infant glory. Then, by mid-afternoon, more visitors arrived at the Parkinsons' doorstep.

"Happy Christmas to you, cuzzy!" Daphne said, as she grabbed Pansy into a tight hug once the latter had opened the front door. "And to you too, Harry!"

"Yep, this place still looks like the Hufflepuff common room," said Marcus Flint, who arrived with his group of family as well. "Er, not that I've been in there, actually."

Marcus had a little sister named Irma, who was three years younger than Harry. "Where's he? I wanna meet Harry Potter already!"

All in all, it was a hectic day for Harry (in a good way). Sure, he'd anticipated a lively coming together of families — but to see it first-hand was an altogether different experience. Then the doorbell rang once more, although it sounded slightly different this time.

"Muggle-detection enchantments," Mrs. Parkinson, which everyone was well aware of by now. "I'll get it!"

Mumbling and grumbling, everyone scrambled to hide anything magical from view, seeing as the International Statute of Secrecy was still their absolute priority. And as for their non-Muggle sense of fashion, this was easily explained as being their theme for the day, should the handful of Muggle neighbours express their curiosity.

To Harry's relief, Mrs. Parkinson was well-versed in dealing with her Muggle guests in a pleasant manner, and she gave them a great stay, as well as good food, before bidding them farewell later that afternoon. And she did all of that without exposing any of her world — an impressive feat.

By early evening, Harry was absolutely knackered as he bid Pansy's extended family goodbye. But the day wasn't over yet, especially once the Malfoys popped in for a brief and arrogant visit.

"Still with your despicable Muggle-decorations, I see ..." said Mr. Malfoy, his upper lip curled in disgust as he entered the hallway.

"Happy Christmas to you too," replied Mrs. Parkinson at the door. "Come inside and have a seat, Narcissa. And you too, Draco."

Harry, meanwhile, rushed upstairs and quickly made excuses with Pansy. "Just tell them I'm lights-out from meeting all of your family today."

"Not in the mood to face 'em after freeing their elf, huh?" Pansy asked. "Leave it to me."

If there were any more guests still to come, Harry made sure to avoid those who he wasn't in the mood to see — such as the rest of his roommates and anyone else with a hateful attitude towards Hermione Granger.

Speaking of whom, Harry spent a large portion of his night wondering just why Hermione hadn't gone home for the holidays. Surely her homework couldn't be _that_ hectic as to keep her away from home, right? Harry reckoned something wasn't quite right here, although he knew there was little sense in worrying over that now.


	12. From North to South

Harry woke up as late as he wanted to on Boxing Day, with neither Pansy nor her mother being concerned that he'd almost forgotten about his visit to The Burrow.

"Hard to believe there's exactly a week left until it's back to school, eh?" Mrs. Parkinson said while sitting with Harry and Pansy at the kitchen table. "I think it's about time you started packing your things before you're off to the Weasleys, Potter. And be nice around their mother; I hear she keeps a whole kitchen going by herself."

"But that's exactly what you can do too," said Pansy, scoffing. "Who cares about that fat mother-peasant?"

"Only a fool underestimates the so-called 'fat mother-peasant'," said Mrs. Parkinson. "So don't judge a book by its cover."

As instructed, Harry spent the rest of the morning packing his luggage and tidying up the spare bedroom he'd been using. He needed to leave on a good note after all. Then, by noon, he joined Pansy and her mother for lunch while also saving space for whatever the Weasleys would offer him — which was bound to be a lot.

"Is Mom's food not good enough for you anymore?" Pansy asked. "What you gonna eat from the Weasleys, huh? Dirty pigs?"

"Don't be disgusting at the food table," said Mrs. Parkinson, slapping her daughter lightly on the top of her hand.

It was around early afternoon when Harry stood ready to Floo at the Parkinsons' fireplace. He had his trunk in hand and watched as Pansy stepped ahead while holding Hedwig's cage, with Hedwig looking a tad nervous at this new experience.

"A thirteen-year-old who's never Floo'd before in their life?" asked Pansy. "Shame. Now watch and learn!" She tossed some powder into the fireplace, waited until its flames turned emerald, and then said "The Burrow!" before vanishing.

"You'll be fine," said Mrs. Parkinson, giving Harry a long, tight hug. "Just make sure to state your destination as clearly as Pansy did. Oh, and keep your eyes shut, tuck those elbows in, and try to focus on landing on your feet. Enjoy the rest of your holidays!"

So many instructions, so little time. Harry grabbed a pinch of powder from the pot on his right, scattered them across the fire, and then strode into the bright green flames before saying: "The Burrow!"

Everything vanished to a blur of pulling and spinning as Harry got sucked through the Floo system. He could barely discern the odd colour or two before shutting his eyes, and then he tucked his elbows in until — eventually — falling face-first onto something soft.

"See? I know him better than you do," Pansy said to someone, and then she pulled Harry up from an unusually large pillow on the floor. "You were supposed to land on your feet, silly. _Reducio!_"

The pillow shrunk to its usual size, and Harry took a moment to look around. He was standing in a cosy but shabby kitchen — as opposed to the lavish-grey rustic elegance of Pansy's place. And just as Mrs. Parkinson had mentioned, the Weasleys' kitchen was full of household magic likely maintained by Mrs. Weasley herself. There were pots and dishes cleaning themselves, drawers opening up to take in kitchenware; and an old, wooden table (unlike the pristine one at the Parkinsons) being scrubbed by an enchanted cloth. There was even a strange clock on the wall which, instead of telling the time, had just one hand pointing to notes instead of numbers — such as 'Time to make tea' or 'You're late', etc.

"Anyway," said Pansy, pulling Harry into a hug much like her mother had done. "Have a good last week of holidays, OK?" And then she returned via Floo powder to her house, where Harry knew she and her mother were preparing to head out to town together.

"Nice of you to finally drop in," — Ginny giggled — "quite literally."

Just as Harry was about to respond, he was greeted by Mrs. Weasley entering the kitchen. She hugged him and mentioned that it was a real pity he couldn't have visited yesterday, seeing as that was when most of the family had come over.

"Don't forget about that little Mafalda brat on your side, Mum," said Ginny, scowling as she then looked at Harry. "She's starting next year, you see, and her dad — who's a Squib — wanted to get her more involved with us so long. Fat chance of that ever happening."

Wait a minute, could _that _Mafalda be the same one as Daphne had mentioned? There was only one way to find out, and Harry therefore asked Mrs. Weasley — as politely as he could — what her maiden surname was.

"Prewett," she said while blinking in surprise. "Why do you ask, dear?"

"It's just that, well," — Harry scratched the back of his hair — "one of my friends might have a cousin who's related to you, ma'am."

"Well, duh!" said Ginny, unperturbed by this piece of news. "Almost everyone's sorta related to everyone these days. Right, Mum?"

"That is true," said Mrs. Weasley, who was just as casual about this as Ginny was. "And it's not worth stressing over unless you're one of those 'purity of blood' types, like the Malfoys."

Ginny smiled. "Harry's not like that, even if he has been sharing a room with that" — she grimaced — "_Draco_ snob for over two years. And those other gits too."

"Mind your manners," Mrs. Weasley said to Ginny, even though Harry made zero effort in defending his roommates here. Sure Draco, Nott, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle all had their good and bad moments over the past few years — but, in the end, they were still a bunch of hateful gits who despised Hermione and her friendship with Harry.

Now _that_ was something which Harry could never ever overlook.

"Feeling a bit peckish?" Mrs. Weasley asked, and Harry was soon led to take a chair at the wooden table. "There's plenty of leftovers from yesterday."

"Thanks, ma'am," he said, and Mrs. Weasley smiled.

Later that day, Harry followed Ginny around for a tour of her house — which Draco had once described as being 'a pile of junk'. There were numerous bedrooms and floors, with Ron's one being on the fifth — wait, where was he anyway? Still at school? Why would Ron choose to remain at Hogwarts instead of spending time with his family at home?

"Um, what's got you thinking so hard?" Ginny asked, glancing most curiously at Harry.

"Why would your brother still be at school?"

"Dunno, but it's kinda boring now. All I've got is Fred and George, but they're almost whole-day locked up in their room."

Harry could see the hopeful look on Ginny's face, as if she was just waiting for him to head outside and mount a broom. "I'm pretty sure Hermione's still at school too. You don't think they could be — you know ..."

"Nah," said Ginny, shaking her head so fast that her flaming red hair swished from side to side, "if they're staying at school together — then it's gotta be something work-related or very, very important."

"And yet, nobody said a word to me."

"Er, you pretty much rushed out of school back then, remember?" Ginny crossed her arms and put on a thoughtful expression. "I did hear them say something about Hagrid; not sure what, though."

Just then, one of the twins — George? —appeared at the staircase. He was holding some sort of flat, wrapped present at his side. "About time you showed up, Harry. George and I've got something good for you, but, can't speak in front of _her_."

"But I'm your sister!" said a scowling Ginny.

"Exactly," said Fred (who Harry mistook for George). "Now get lost and go play with your toys, or something."

"Hmph! Harry will tell me, won't you, Harry?"

"Better him than us," said Fred, leading Harry three flights down to the former's bedroom. "Shut the door and make sure nobody hears us, especially not Mum," he whispered.

Harry looked around and saw that there was a mess of Exploding Snap cards, empty sweets-wrappers, burnt parchment, and some half-emptied boxes of who-knows-what scattered about the twins' bedroom. Then he stepped over the mess and took a seat near the window, after which George locked the door and cast some spell on it.

"Guys, what's with all the secrecy and stuff?" Harry asked, frowning at the twins as they seated themselves on Fred's bed, across the room.

"Believe me when I say that this was _the_ toughest decision of our lives," said George, unwrapping the package and withdrawing a blank piece of parchment. "But, after careful consideration, we've decided that your needs are greater than ours ..." He, as well as Fred, proceeded to explain all about the Marauder's Map and how it was obtained — after which Fred spoke the passphrase and revealed the map's contents to Harry.

"Wicked, huh?" Fred asked. "At least now, if we do end up getting another break-in —"

"— which we will," said George.

"— you'll spot Black before he spots you," said Fred, grinning as Harry remained staring at the map. "Take your time. We know it's a bit of a shocker, yeah."

"No, it's just ... I know those two: Padfoot and Prongs," Harry said. "Are you sure you got this from Filch?"

"Of course we are —" Fred (and George) then blinked in surprise. "Wait, what? Ah, I see. Funny little joke, Harry."

"Yeah, very funny," said George. "Hilarious."

And that was when Harry mentioned that 'Prongs' was his father, and that 'Padfoot' was Sirius Black — although he wasn't quite sure about the rest. Who the hell were Moony and Wormtail anyway?

"Blimey!" said Fred, standing up and almost tripping over a box in the process. "Now it all makes sense: Black was trying to get into the common room in order to get at us, George! Maybe he thought we were in there with the map! His map!"

"Yeah!" said George, standing up too. "He could've used it to track down and catch Harry! Probably hoped to get him on the way to Hagrid's, or something."

Should Harry have mentioned Black's lack of hostilities against him? Nah, he'd prefer to keep that from spreading around the school. "You guys are overreacting," he said. "I'm sure Black knew you were feasting with the rest of the school on Hallowe'en."

With no other leads to go on, the twins advised Harry to keep the map safe and secure at all times. "Like, honestly, don't even go to the loo without it," said Fred.

"Put it in a protective charm and keep it close-by while washing," said George. "Man, imagine if Black _did_ get his hands on this ..."

After browsing through the map for awhile, Harry saw the dots labelled 'Ronald Weasley' and 'Hermione Granger' in the library. _Hope they're not holding hands, or anything._ "So, guys, what's with all this mess?" he asked, steering the topic away from the map. "Didn't know you people ate from the floor."

"Hilarious," said George. "Let's just say that we've got big plans to come."

"'Big plans' for sure," said Fred, nodding most enthusiastically. "Big enough to give our fellow students some well-earned breaks from classes; big enough to give Peeves a run for his money ... You get the idea, right?"

"Yeah," said Harry, knowing that he'd have his hands full when making prefect someday. But for now, he exited the room and called Ginny over to a corner on the second-floor landing, where he showed her the map.

"Brilliant!" she whispered, so as to avoid having her mother hear from the kitchen — two floors down. "Now you can see who's sneaking out for snogs and more!"

"Er, yeah." said Harry, chuckling. "I'm sure that'd be very useful info."

Harry's first day at The Burrow turned out to be similar in some ways to his stay at the Parkinsons' cottage, although the latter would always have a special place in his heart — for being the first wizarding home he'd ever visited. There was Mrs. Weasley going about the house, cooking and cleaning much like Pansy's mother tended to do; there was a paddock up the hill outside, where one could play Quidditch within the confines of the surrounding trees; and there was a collection of Muggle items stored away too, just like the Parkinsons had in stock. However, if there was one major difference between the Parkinsons' place and The Burrow (besides the lack of a fatherly figure), it would have to be ...

"De-gnoming!" said Fred, leading Harry towards the garden outside, where Ginny and George were already waiting in the snowy weather. "Ever heard of it? Bet your Parkinson pal taught you real good, didn't she? Most wizarding families tend to have these little pests running about."

"We've cleaned out most before Christmas," said Ginny, blowing into her gloved palms and rubbing them together, "so there's not too many left. I'd still rather hop on a broomstick now, though."

How was Harry to explain that Mrs. Parkinson's preferred method of de-gnoming consisted of a particularly fatal range of spells? "Well, um, let's just say that there's hardly anything left at the Parkinsons to de-gnome. Good target practice for my friend's mum."

George raised his brows. "She ... kills them?"

"From what I've heard, yeah. She said it's the simplest solution — and that their corpses help keep the soil fertile."

"Blimey," said Fred, looking down at the gnome digging its way through a thick mound of snow. "Well, Dad thinks they're funny, so, our solution's far more peaceful. Just spin 'em real dizzy and hurl them as far as you can over the fence. They'll be far too disoriented to find their way back to their holes."

George nodded. "And the rest are even dumb enough to have a look, instead of running away, while we're tossing their pals."

All in all, Harry's de-gnoming session was a real blast (not literally). He came second-best, behind Fred, in their swinging contest that afternoon — although their day was cut short as the sun started to set early.

"Might as well head inside before Mum gets a fit," said Ginny, groaning as the group trudged their way back to the house. "Dad'll be back in a couple of hours, and he's really looking forward to meeting you, Harry."

When Mr. Weasley arrived home that evening, he shot a surprisingly stern glance towards Mrs. Weasley before shaking Harry's hand. "Harry Potter, it's a pleasure to meet you at last."

"Same here, sir."

"Have a seat, everyone," Mrs. Weasley said as Fred, George, Ginny, and Harry stood around the kitchen table. "Harry, there's something of the utmost importance which needs to be discussed between you and Arthur later on."

The very first thought which crept into Harry's mind at the sound of this was Mr. Weasley giving him the stereotypical 'Are you eyeing my daughter?' kind of talk. But, surely this man wouldn't see things _that_ way, right? Ginny was, after all, still too young for Harry to think about in typical adolescent fashion.

"Is it about the ..." Fred looked hesitant, and Harry gave him a quick, reassuring shake of the head as if to say, 'They don't know about the map' — which made Fred almost sigh in relief. "Oh, never mind, sorry."

Mr. Weasley ignored the brief outburst as he leaned forward over his plate. "I see no problem discussing this right now if Harry's OK with the others overhearing something _this_ personal — although it might come as a shock for Ginny, especially."

_Oh damn, I knew it!_ Harry thought, inwardly cringing at what he thought was about to come. "What's the, er, 'something' about, sir, if I might ask?"

"Sirius Black," said Mr. Weasley, and Harry felt a wave of curiosity and relief combined. Of course Harry wouldn't mind the twins and Ginny overhearing anything to do with Black (except for the man's odd behaviour back then, but that was an altogether separate issue), and so he gave his permission — allowing Mr. Weasley to continue. "Years ago, your — what is it, Molly?"

"I just don't think Ginny should be hearing this, despite being allowed to stay," said Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny frowned.

"I'm not a little baby, Mum."

"And she'll figure it out anyway," said George, "courtesy of Harry, most likely."

"Years ago," said Mr. Weasley, not taking his eyes off Harry while speaking, "your mother and father, Lily and James, were kept safely hidden by a powerful bit of magic called the Fidelius Charm ..." He then explained all about how that spell worked, its reliance on a Secret Keeper, and how Sirius Black had betrayed them all. This, of course, elicited horrified expressions from three of the children at the table.

"Black did WHAT?" Ginny gasped. "And Harry never knew?"

"That's outrageous!" said Fred and George, and Mrs. Weasley immediately strode across the kitchen to comfort Harry.

"It's OK, dear; they'll catch him —"

But Harry already knew the whole story, and so he leaned back in his seat and explained how he'd been informed by Professor Dumbledore — leaving Mr. Weasley (and everyone else) flabbergasted. They couldn't believe that Harry could just carry on with his life in such a nonchalant manner, especially given how he knew that the man responsible for betraying his parents was out and about.

"Personally," Harry said, upon seeing the variety of astonished redheads looking at him, "I'd like to hear Sirius Black's side of the story. One plus one doesn't make two here, if you know what I mean. So the only thing we can do now is wait and see when Black slips up and reveals himself again."

"Fair enough," said Mr. Weasley. "I suppose we ought to carry on with dinner then, eh, Molly?"

"Yes, of course." Mrs. Weasley dished up everyone's meals at the table. "If you need any spare blankets for the cold, Harry, we could always pull some from the empty bedrooms."

"Oh, that reminds me ..." Harry enquired about Ron's choice to remain at school, to which neither Mr. nor Mrs. Weasley were absolutely sure, in all honesty.

"I think it's something to do with Hagrid, from what Ron's written," said Mrs. Weasley. "Would you like us to send him an owl?"

"No, but thanks for the offer, ma'am."

Harry was later approached by Ginny, once he'd settled into his room upstairs. She stopped in the doorway and eyed Harry as if he were about to explode, for whatever reason. "How do you do it?" she asked. "I mean, it's just not normal to brush aside _that_ kind of information, Harry, especially not when it's the reason you lost your parents."

"That maniac who crept into your head was the reason I lost my parents, Ginny. No offence."

Ginny blinked. "But, what about the traitor who sold them out in the first place?"

"Like I said: something doesn't add up. Maybe he'll get what's coming to him someday, dunno." Harry tucked himself into bed. "But Voldemort's a whole different beast than Sirius Black. Anyway, how about a game of Broom Tag tomorrow morning?"

Ginny nodded. "Sounds great, but, we don't have any Nimbuses around here."

"Old brooms are perfectly fine by me."

"Then you're welcome to fly Ron's Shooting Star," said Ginny, and Harry laughed.

"Hell no! We can probably run faster than that thing."


	13. Intra-House Rivalry

True to his word, Harry had no problems flying whatever old brooms the Weasleys had stashed in their shed. He was content with playing in the smallest of leagues right here: social-level sport at The Burrow's orchard. The only problem was that he had to be extremely careful, seeing as the surrounding trees were mostly withered down over the winter period. And it was for this reason that Harry and the rest limited their flying to sunrise and sunset — as there was just too great a risk of being seen by the Muggles, from their village, further down the hill.

In addition to flying and hanging out with the children, Harry also spent some time with Mr. Weasley — in the latter's garage. Here they discussed the random assortment of spark plugs, dead batteries, tin openers, a broken desk-fan, and even a blown-out car engine that Mr. Weasley had salvaged over the years.

"The way Muggles make do without magic" — Mr. Weasley paused to admire his collection — "is simply ingenious. I hear this one got burned from what they call 'dragged racing'."

"'Drag racing', sir," said Harry. "It's usually illegal unless done in a proper venue, and not on the streets."

"You ought to take a look at my Ford Anglia, Harry. I'm sure Molly won't mind if we took it for a drive around town. Maybe you could organise us some drag racing, perhaps?"

_In that car?_ Harry gave a patient smile. "I'm not sure that's a very good idea, sir. It'd take some serious magic to beat the kinds of cars the Muggles use."

"Which would look very suspicious indeed," Mr. Weasley said, and then he walked around the table and retrieved a model aeroplane from one of his garage shelves. "So, how do these stay up? I mean, to have something achieve flight without even an ounce of magic ..."

After briefly discussing the workings of an aeroplane, Harry and Mr. Weasley left the garage and joined Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Fred, and George in the kitchen for dessert that evening. There were numerous bowls of chocolate pudding, two different cakes, and a dozen custard treats on the kitchen table, with everyone stuffing themselves to their stomach's content.

"Brilliant as usual," said Mr. Weasley, kissing his wife on her cheek. "Anyone up for thirds?"

"Ginny, don't slouch in your seat after eating," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Sorry, can't help it. I'm full."

As the new year grew closer by the day, Harry began cutting out palm-sized parchment squares — much like Fleur Delacour had done — which he then used to tutor Ginny. These lessons took place at a desk in Percy's room, often while the weather was terrible outside.

"What's this movement for?" Harry asked, as he held up a parchment-square for Ginny to see.

"The rabbits-to-slippers spell?" Ginny groaned. "Transfiguration's so damn hard, compared to everything else."

"Which is why it's had the best two teachers before, compared to everything else," said Harry. "Let's start with the basics, all right? Matches to needles, here we come!"

They practised over and over, day after day, throughout the rest of the week. And by the afternoon on New Year's Eve, Harry switched up their practice routine by swapping wands with Ginny; a most unusual study technique. This carried on until the sun had set, after which it was time for the evening celebrations — which progressed just as Harry had expected. First, came the music; then, came the food; and then, finally, Mrs. Weasley crossed the living room and placed a knitted, emerald jumper in Harry's hands. It bore a very intricate — and well-done — Slytherin emblem right in its centre, where Harry's heart would be.

"There you go!" said Mrs. Weasley, returning to her chair near the fireplace. "It was quite refreshing to knit something different, for a change."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Imagine if it was in Gryffindor colours," said Fred, who was sitting beside George near the fireplace. "Snape's face would be priceless."

"'Professor' Snape, you mean," said Mr. Weasley. "And don't mind anything which that Malfoy boy might say, Harry. Their kind hardly ever changes."

True. It didn't take a genius to know that Draco would be throwing all sorts of snide remarks at the jumper, once they were back at school. But that wasn't the only issue at hand, and Harry soon told of his most expensive present that year (well, his most expensive one _ever_), leaving the Weasleys wide-eyed and gobsmacked. "I'm dead serious," Harry said. "No lies."

"W-wow." Fred whistled and looked at George. "Oliver's going to get a heart attack, eh?"

"Assuming Harry even gets to play," said George, "which isn't likely at all this year."

"Goodness," said Mrs. Weasley, resting her elbow on an armrest. "So they think Sirius Black could've bought it? But how? And would he truly go _that_ far with his schemes?"

"Molly, this is Harry Potter we're talking about," said Mr. Weasley, looking more thoughtful than ever that night. "Black wouldn't be the first to throw some coin in favour of You-Know-Who, or did we all forget about Lucius Malfoy and his funds-for-favours tactic? And don't forget that Harry's a priority target for any You-Know-Who supporter out there."

"But let's suppose that wasn't Black the one who sent it," said Mrs. Weasley, sitting with a half-eaten bowl of trifle in hand. "Someone out there must've taken a serious liking to you, Harry."

At that moment, Harry's mind flashed a wistful image of Hermione sending him a Firebolt from Diagon Alley ... and then he remembered that she was still at school; not to mention that adolescents probably didn't spend over two-hundred pounds (or over a thousand Galleons) on each others' birthday.

* * *

Saturday came and went in a mix of trunk-packing, homework-checking, laundry-carrying, and an overall sense of heading back to school tomorrow. The time for fun and games — including snowball fights and making snow angels — was officially over, by virtue of Mrs. Weasley patrolling the house in the afternoon. And on Sunday morning, they were taken to King's Cross station via two Ministry cars — no doubt for Harry's protection against Sirius Black.

"Please keep safe, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, as she pulled Harry into a hug and kissed him on the cheek. Then she gave the all-clear sign for the group of four to step through the magical barrier and onto platform nine and three-quarters.

"Two more years of this and we're done," said Fred, looking ahead at the Hogwarts Express. "Totally looking forward to that."

"Not looking forward to N.E.W.T.s, though," said George.

Ginny, meanwhile, was simply ecstatic to be walking alongside Harry to the train. "Is it 'bring your tutor to school day' today?" she asked.

"Hilarious," said Harry. "Hope you don't mind if I go back to my friends now?"

"Only if you put on your jumper later on," said Ginny, and they boarded the train before reuniting with their respective friends. For Harry, this was a short walk down the passage until reaching a compartment where Sally-Anne could be heard speaking to her roommates.

" — and then my cuz came over and we visited The Asda — oh, Harry!" She tossed her half-eaten liquorice wand aside and grabbed Harry into a firm hug once he'd entered. "Missed you, lad!"

"Typical behaviour from across the river," said Daphne, extracting the liquorice wand from her long sheet of blonde hair. "She's still a bit overexcited from New Year, Harry."

"You'd swear she took one too many Cheering Charms, or something," said Tracey, standing up and shaking Harry's hand once Sally-Anne had finally returned to her seat. "Anyway, Pansy's been telling us all about your holidays there ... before Sally-Anne hijacked the topic."

"And before that," said Millicent, sitting with her black cat, Spooky, on her lap, "I was telling my story about being in America. Geez, does nobody care that I almost got lost down a cursed old gold-mine? Some real nasty traps my uncle found — and broke, of course."

Harry sat down and exchanged smiles with Pansy opposite him. "So, how was your week without me?"

There was no need for Pansy to even talk, as Daphne then went on and on about her time spent at the Parkinsons' cottage after Harry had left for The Burrow.

A few hours later saw the train make its usual, routine stop ... and then everything faded to a cold, eerie darkness in here. Next came the Dementor, which was quickly ushered away by the same Auror-in-training who'd done so last time (although her hair was purple instead of pink). "Blimey, that thing's really out to get you, Harry Potter." And then she narrowed her green eyes (weren't they dark last time?) and said _"Revelio!"_ while aiming her wand at Harry.

"The hell are you doing?" Millicent asked. "Don't go shooting spells at our friend!"

"If I was Sirius Black," said Harry, frowning, "I'd prefer Polyjuice over Transfiguration."

The witch backed out of the compartment and nodded. "All right, sure. Have some chocolate on the house."

By the time they reached Hogsmeade station, Harry slipped on his new jumper and basked in his friends' compliments. Pansy and her gang made no effort to hide their admiration towards its quality design, irrespective of who had knitted it in the first place.

"Not bad, not bad," said Pansy. "Fat old cow's got talent."

Tracey ran her fingers over the wool and nodded. "Only a dummy would insult you for wearing this piece, Harry."

The compliments kept on coming from the odd student or two as Harry made his way up to the castle; but then, barely an hour later, he settled down to a subdued atmosphere in his dormitory.

"So, a Weasley-made jumper, I assume?" Draco asked, eyeing the item on Harry's bed.

"Yep," Harry said, folding it up and placing it in his middle drawer. "It's quite comfy, if you'd like a quick test."

Draco pulled a disgusted face. "Ugh, I'd rather fall off a broom than wear something from that filthy cow! What's wrong with you?"

"Yeah," said Nott, voicing his opinion as well. "Why do you keep drifting further and further away from being a proper Slytherin, Potter? As if killing the mighty beast of our founder wasn't enough already ..."

"... now he dresses like a Weasel too," said Goyle, speaking for the first time that night. "You's going wrong there, Potter. Everyone can tell."

_Ah, whatever_. Harry wasn't in the mood to argue with his own roommates, and so he let them say their say until, eventually, they all fell asleep on that chilly night. Better to keep low and avoid a direct confrontation, right?

That mindset carried over into the first day of term, as Harry got up and joined the rest of his house for breakfast. But then, just as he'd anticipated since getting his Firebolt on Christmas, he saw a handful of owls carrying a long, obvious package towards the Slytherin table ... towards _Draco Malfoy_.

"You've gotta be kidding me," muttered Pansy, shaking her head while seated beside Harry. "How much do I owe you, again?"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said while patting her on the thigh. "I've got a plan to deal with this rubbish."

The moment of arrogance that Harry had expected was about to arrive. First, it was Marcus Flint who nearly leapt out of his seat upon seeing the package sitting beside his left arm; then, most of Team Slytherin (even Terence Higgs, who left the team a while back) got up and surrounded Flint; and then, finally, Draco gave a smug grin as many heads in the Great Hall turned to stare at him, as he ripped open his package. "Oh, look, if it isn't a brand new Firebolt. The best broom ... for the best player."

Almost immediately, many students began whispering among one another — with the Gryffindors (who sat furthest across the Great Hall) being most animated in their discussions. Their captain, Oliver Wood, looked almost petrified as he mindlessly poured salt into his cereal. Elsewhere, the Hufflepuffs stood up to stare, horrified, over the Ravenclaw table — while the Ravenclaws themselves were whispering loud enough for Harry to hear their complaints against such a broom being allowed at school.

"What a loser," said Sally-Anne, glaring in the direction of Draco at the other end of their table. This was supposed to be _your_ moment, Harry. Hell, I'd take to seeing anyone but Malfoy getting this much attention."

There was no denying that the sight of so many students fussing over Draco's gift had cut deep into Harry's pride. "Don't look so guilty," he said to Pansy. "It's not your mother's fault."

"I know," she said, sighing. "But why did she even contact the Malfoys in the first place? Now Draco's snatched your spotlight."

Up at the staff table, Professor Snape could be seen sitting with an immensely smug look on his face — a look which made Harry's insides boil. "How many Galleons do you think our esteemed Head of House donated towards this broom, huh?" Harry asked.

"Probably nothing," said Daphne, sitting opposite Harry. "He never struck me as the rich sort anyway."

"You know what's the worst part of this whole thing?" Millicent asked as she shifted closer to Daphne. "Everyone's going to think that Harry's a copycat when his broom comes back."

"Anyone got a copy of _Which Broomstick_ on them?" Harry asked, and Tracey did. And so, while the rest of the table crowded around their smug Seeker, Harry browsed through the magazine until coming across the information he needed. "Ah, here we are. Let's see ..."

For the Comet series, there was mainly the Two Sixty currently available. It was priced at fifty Galleons, offered a nought to fifty-five acceleration in ten seconds, and had a top speed of roughly seventy miles per hour. This was Cho's current broom, while the rest of her team flew Cleansweep Sevens.

Harry then browsed the Cleansweep section, in which the Five and Seven series were currently available. For the former, it was thirty Galleons for a nought to fifty acceleration in ten seconds, and a top speed of roughly sixty miles per hour. Then there was the Seven series, which was priced at sixty Galleons for a nought to sixty acceleration in ten seconds, and a top speed of roughly eighty miles per hour. This was basically the smallest (and most inconspicuous) improvement which Harry could offer for Cho, and it'd bring her up to the general standard across her team.

"Why bother with the old Nimbuses?" Pansy asked, as she saw Harry browsing through the next section. "They're still quite pricey."

"Brooms are more than just speed and acceleration, you know, which is why they're still 'quite pricey'", Harry said, and Pansy gave a sarcastic round of applause.

"Oooooh, so smart you happen to be."

The Nimbus series had the biggest selection — featuring the One Thousand Five Hundred, One Thousand Seven Hundred, Two Thousand, and Two Thousand and One models.

"I hear they're starting to discontinue the old ones," said Sally-Anne, leaning in to see what Harry's reading. "Two Thousands and up are the way to go."

According to _Which Broomstick_, the One Thousand Five Hundreds were priced at ninety Galleons each, offered nought to sixty-five in ten seconds, and had a top speed of roughly seventy-five miles per hour. Next up was the One Thousand Seven Hundreds, which were priced at one hundred and twenty Galleons each, offered nought to seventy in ten seconds, and kept a still-formidable top speed of ninety miles per hour.

"Not bad, not bad," Tracey said, looking as if she might consider this one someday. "Got a few nifty features built-in as well; proper Nimbus-standard, that."

Harry was well familiar with the following brooms: for the Two Thousands, it was three hundred Galleons for nought to eighty in ten seconds and a top speed of one hundred miles per hour. Meanwhile, the Two Thousand and Ones were five hundred Galleons each for nought to ninety-five in ten seconds, as well as a top speed of one hundred and twenty miles per hour.

"And now for the big one," Harry said, moving to the Firebolt section. This broom was no less than one thousand three hundred Galleons in price, and it offered a whopping nought to one hundred and fifty in ten seconds — with a top speed of one hundred and sixty miles per hour. "Geez, did Voldemort himself make this broom?"

"Makes you wonder what he could've achieved if he didn't go all evil, eh?" Millicent said.

"Whatever," said Harry. "He's nothing but a mean old spirit wandering around like a loser." And then he began writing up a summary of the magazine's catalogue, which read:

_Comet 260: 0-55, 70, 50G._

_Cleansweep 7: 0-60, 80, 60G._

_N1500: 0-65, 75, 90G._

_N1700: 0-70, 90, 120G._

_N2000: 0-80, 100, 300G._

_N2001: 0-95, 120, 500G._

_Firebolt: 0-150, 160, 1300G._

"Loads better than reading through all those paragraphs, huh?" Harry asked, with a proud smile on his face.

"Yeah, but now we can't see the extra features," said Tracey. "Oh, whatever. Time to budget and plan, I'd say. Getting Ravenclaw those Seven Hundreds would be the best option, all things considered."

Millicent nodded. "Totally. It's the best in terms of making them harder to beat this time, but not too much for when Harry's back on the team."

"So," said Harry, trying to do the maths, "what's a hundred and twenty times seven?"

"Eight hundred and forty!" said Daphne. "But, what if the Malfoys bribed the goblins to find out who transferred such a large amount from their vault?"

"That won't work," said Pansy, scoffing. "And besides, I doubt those fools would go _that_ far just for school sports."

Harry wasn't entirely sure about that. The Malfoys were known to be sore losers at times. "Think I'll just give the cash straight to Cho, then. She can split the difference with the rest of her team."

"And what if Lucius Malfoy sniffs this out at the bank?" asked Daphne.

"Then he shouldn't've bought that Firebolt out of pure spite in the first place."


	14. Ravenclaw vs Slytherin

The new term was now in full swing, and Harry's face stung as he walked down the snowy slopes on a raw January morning. It was time for Care of Magical Creatures again, where Harry found himself face to face with none other than Hermione Granger. She looked around, saw that nobody else had yet arrived, and proceeded to discuss Buckbeak's upcoming hearing, with Harry.

"How come you didn't send me an owl, or something, about it last month?" Harry asked, which Hermione dismissed with a wave of her hand.

"Doesn't matter. What's more important is that I've already asked you to convince Malfoy to stop his stupidity. This is an innocent creature we're talking about!"

"Malfoy's no innocent creature, though."

Although the corners of Hermione's mouth twitched, she kept her glare firmly in place. "Look at it this way, then: he's stolen your spotlight and is about to break Hagrid's heart, too. You'd better do something before it's too late."

Why was Harry so head over heels for Hermione Granger these days? Sure, he'd always treasured her as a friend — but ever since the petrification incident last year, well, things changed a bit on the inside. Or at least they did for Harry. "And what if I can't convince Malfoy, no matter what?" he asked while looking into those fierce, brown eyes before him.

"Then make his life as miserable as possible, no matter what," said Hermione. "You should've seen Hagrid over the holidays, Harry. He tried so hard to stay cheerful and all, but, it was plain obvious that he was — and still is — terribly anxious."

Just then, the rest of their class came trudging down the slopes — with Ron walking ahead of everyone else. "Did you really visit my house, Harry?" he asked.

"Yeah. Place looked like a dump."

_"What?"_

"He's just joking with you, Ron," Hermione said, giving Harry a quick look. "Right?"

Harry then saw Hagrid stacking some firewood nearby. "I heard you two are busy helping Hagrid with his case. How's that going?"

"Not so loud!" said Ron. "Not great, actually. I mean, we found some good stuff and all, but, I don't think it's gonna be enough."

"'Enough' for what?" came the snobbish voice of Draco Malfoy. He was strutting down the slopes towards the garden, with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him as usual. "Complaining about money again, Weasley? Tell you what ... how about you sell your whole plot of land, including your house, to me — and I'll give you five whole minutes on my new broom. That's rather generous, don't you think?"

"I wonder," said Ron, raising his voice for everyone else to hear, "if salamanders love Firebolts?"

_"What —"_ Draco glanced in the direction of Hagrid setting up a bonfire, which was likely to be part of today's lesson. "You can't even afford to lay eyes on my broom, Weasley! And why are you standing over here with these two, Potter?"

Hermione wasn't having any of it, and she stepped forward to confront Harry's roommate. "It's perfectly understandable if, even after two years, you still can't tell that Harry is our friend. At least he didn't have to buy anything to impress us."

Everyone around them was watching as Draco replied with: "Care to slot in with Hooch and test those nonexistent flying skills, Granger?"

"Care to get into a match while Harry's actually playing?"

Jeers and laughter filled the Gryffindor side (while Pansy and her gang kept their amusement to themselves), and Draco's expression immediately soured. "How dare you insult me, you ... you filthy, work-obsessed-to-compensate-for-Muggle-parents Mudblood!"

"OI!" Hagrid rushed over, with a massive log shouldered on one side. "Now see here! I won' be toleratin' THAT sorta language in my class, Malfoy! Yeh'd best be apologisin' right now ter Hermione Granger! Is tha' clear?"

"It's clear that you're due for a hearing sometime, 'Professor'," said Draco, hiding his smirk. "Wouldn't want to risk compromising that, would we?"

At that moment, Harry battled to suppress a sudden urge to attack Draco Malfoy right then and there. He just felt as if he should do something — anything — to punish this fool for daring to insult Harry's Hermione _yet again_. Perhaps some soap in the mouth ought to do? No, Hermione wouldn't want him to put himself in the line of fire when there were other, sneakier ways of wiping that smug look off Draco's face instead.

"He doesn't deserve to be in your class, Hagrid!" Ron said, much to the agreement of his fellow Gryffindors. "Kick him out and make him take something else ... maybe Muggle Studies?"

"Ha! In your dreams, Weasel —"

"Back down," Harry said to Draco, calm and composed. "Your father's no longer on the board of governors, remember?"

Draco scoffed. "So? Father's still got their respect and admiration, remember? And I'm sure our esteemed 'teacher' over here knows what's best for himself and that overgrown, violent chicken of his."

At long last, one of the other students – Parvati Patil — finally spoke up. "Can we all just calm down and get on with our class, please? It's freezing cold out here!" Parvati said, shivering while standing right beside Lavender Brown at the garden fence. "Malfoy's already wasted, what, ten minutes so far?"

Once the lesson on salamanders got underway, Hagrid placed the flame-loving lizards within the bonfire. It was a great class which everyone except Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were beginning to enjoy. Then, when the bell finally rang, Hagrid called Harry aside for a quick chat, seeing as the Slytherins had a free period now anyway.

"You guys go ahead," Harry said to Pansy and her gang. Then he crossed the snowy garden and met with Hagrid at the bonfire. "I know about Buckbeak, if that's what this is about."

"Thought yeh did. They moved the hearin' up from April the 20th ter February the 11th." Hagrid dumped another log into the fire while his hands trembled from anxiety. "They 'spect me ter stand there, in the Ministry o' Magic itself, in fron' o' all those Committee folks who no doubt made up their minds already. Lucius Malfoy's gonna be havin' himself a real laugh when I'm fumblin' about my notes an' stuff. An' before yeh ask, they'll never allow a bunch o' students to skip school for a simple hearin' like tha'. An' Dumbledore's got his own things ter worry about in the meantime; I'd rather no' disrupt his busy schedule then. So I'll be on my own, with Beaky's fate in my hands in London."

"Don't worry; there's always a way."

"Fer what? Don' tell me yeh're gonna be usin' that Invisibility Cloak an' helpin' me out in London?" Hagrid looked mortified at the idea of Harry breaking that many rules, especially in these times. "Yer parents wouldn' wan' that, Harry."

"Or maybe I'll take a cue from Lucius himself and make some deals of my own." And with that, Harry turned around and went on his way, leaving Hagrid to frown in confusion.

Later that day, Harry saw his roommates seize the advantage of their Potions class — where the odds were in their favour, as opposed to Care of Magical Creatures. This was made even worse by the fact that Nott and Zabini, who had long since dropped Hagrid's class, were ready to avenge their roommate's pride after Draco had told them of Hermione's earlier retort.

"Have I not asked that you copy my notes from the board, Weasley?" Snape asked, rounding on Ron during today's class. "Your parchment is, unsurprisingly, devoid of ink."

"How am I supposed to concentrate when Malfoy keeps throwing me with stuff, sir? Look, here's some bundled-up fairy wings and valerian root that flew across the class when your back was turned!"

Snape looked from a furious Ron to an impassive Draco. "Is this true, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Of course not, Professor." Draco was clearly lying; it didn't take a genius to figure that out. "It's not my fault Weasley ruins his ingredients by bundling them up like that in his bag. No wonder his potions forever look like diarrhoea."

Some of the Slytherins sniggered.

"Sir," said Hermione, who was willing to brave the wrath of her biased teacher. "Ron's telling the truth; we all saw Malfoy and those boys — except Harry, of course — pelting Ron with various ingredients."

"Two points from Gryffindor, from each of you two, for wasting my time in this class," said Snape, turning around to continue with his writing. "Now take this down and get started before I add in detention as well!"

Harry couldn't even bring himself to observe the victorious grins on his roommates' faces, and he therefore carried on with his work as usual. He would just have to get at Draco in a different way, at a different place, and without drawing any suspicion towards himself in the process. After all, if Lord Voldemort could wage an entire war in secret, then what was stopping Harry from doing something similar ... and on a lesser scale?

"See, Potter?" Draco said, once they arrived at their final class of the day, Divination. "Your precious Mudblood's not so clever when we're actually in a capable teacher's class ... instead of being with some unkempt, biased hermit."

Harry withheld the urge to call Snape exactly that, and so he just kept shut and took his seat beside Pansy. "What a first day, huh?"

"You'd swear this was 'Hogwarts Crèche of Witchcraft and Wizardry', by how they've all been acting," Pansy said.

Today marked the beginning of Trelawney's course on Palmistry, and Harry wasted no time in getting Pansy to read his palm and (despite her reluctance to do so) make up all sorts of dire predictions in front of Trelawney. It worked, as Trelawney looked impressed and added her bit by saying that Harry wasn't likely to outlive his years at Hogwarts.

After Divination came dinner, after which Harry met with his tutor, Cho, in an abandoned classroom on the sixth floor. They spent a good deal of time swapping holiday stories and reviewing Harry's curriculum. Then, at the end of their session, Harry broke the news of his plan against Draco Malfoy.

"You're joking, right?" Cho asked, staring across the desk at Harry. "I mean, everyone knows you're not the best of friends with your own roommates, but, seven hundred Galleons — just like that?"

Harry explained that he not only wished to have Draco get taken down a peg but also the latter's father, and Cho gave a lengthy sigh at Harry's determination.

"Fine," she said, "I might know a few people in my house who know a few people that are fairly good at this hearing stuff. But the problem is that very few, if any, Ravenclaws actually like Hagrid. He's just not fit to be teaching —"

"He was doing pretty well before Malfoy sabotaged our first class."

Cho shook her head. "Exactly my point. A proper professor would know how to deal with the unexpected, be it foul play or not. Hagrid's panicked reaction — from what I've heard — was a telling sign, Harry. Perhaps you should set aside your personal feelings and look at things from a professional, academic perspective."

"I know enough to know that Hagrid's a good teacher," said Harry. "End of story."

The next day started with Care of Magical Creatures, followed by Herbology, lunch, Transfiguration, a free period, and then Defence Against the Dark Arts — where Lupin informed Harry that their Anti-Dementor sessions would commence from that week onwards. "We'll set ourselves up with a Boggart in Binns' class," he said.

"Perfect," said Harry, feeling a rush of excitement as he couldn't wait to find out what his Patronus looked like. "And I'll try to continue my Occlumency lessons with Professor Dumbledore, too."

In addition, Harry resumed his tutoring of Ginny — who met up with him every Wednesday evening as well as over the weekends, too. Sure it was a busy schedule, but Harry was grateful to keep himself busy instead of listening to his roommates gloat over Draco's 'skills' on the Firebolt. Speaking of which, Harry made sure to write a letter to Gringotts as well, and he ended up transferring various portions from his vault to those belonging to some of Cho's extended family. Cho, in turn, had them return the combined amount of seven hundred Galleons to her.

"If anyone's mad enough to try and investigate this," she said while passing Harry in the corridors on Thursday afternoon, "they're just a loser with no life. Oh, by the way, I got Cedric to ask his dad, who works at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, to try and have a better look at Hagrid's case."

"You're a lifesaver."

"Hold your horses; Cedric said it'd be best if we could organise as many witness reports in favour of Hagrid as possible. That means they need to be done quite formally ..."

Harry knew where this was going. "Leave me out of the heat unless absolutely necessary. I'll get the others to give their opinions."

"Cool," said Cho, and they both went their separate ways in the corridor. For Harry, the day culminated in an exhausting session with Lupin, where he managed to get an incorporeal Patronus going. It wasn't what Harry had expected, but Lupin reassured him that this was some pretty advanced stuff, especially for a third-year student.

As the week moved on, Harry forced himself to appear pleased with his Quidditch practice sessions, even though Draco kept on beating him to the Golden Snitch (although Harry wasn't giving it his all). Then came the Firebolt-praise from Flint and the rest of the team, while Harry just stood aside and pretended to smile. Things were getting worse by the day as Draco's ego swelled to infuriating levels.

"Don't worry, Potter," he said, shouldering his Firebolt while walking to the locker room, "when your second-rate one is cleared for use, I'll consider showing you how to use it."

Oh, Harry couldn't wait to see the look on Draco's face when losing out to Cho. And it was that image which kept Harry in good spirits even while struggling with his Occlumency lessons on Sunday morning, in the Headmaster's office.

"You're getting there, Harry; one small step at a time," said Dumbledore, who was pleased with his student's efforts. "I see you've used the hardships of this week to your advantage."

"I try to ignore all the pettiness around me, sir."

* * *

The second week of term was hardly any better than the first, as Draco and friends were gloating to no end over the Firebolt — especially in the Great Hall. It was 'Firebolt this' and 'Firebolt that', not to mention a variety of Cleansweep and Comet jokes. Then, on Wednesday morning, students of all houses turned to look in the direction of the Ravenclaw table — where dozens of owls swooped down with seven distinct packages in their grip.

"Wait, are those ... brooms?" some older Slytherin girl asked, and Draco scoffed.

"Nobody's coming close to what my father's purchased."

Harry would be lying if he said he didn't feel guilty at going against his own teammates (as most of them were good people), but he had to at least try and teach Draco some respect. He couldn't risk letting Draco's arrogance spill over onto Flint and the rest, who had already taken to joining in on all the mocking and gloating.

Once the rest of the week had finished, it was time for the much-anticipated match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin — which took place on a chilly (but dry) Saturday morning. Everyone, especially the commentator, was eager to see whether Team Ravenclaw's new brooms would pay off. Lee Jordan then introduced both teams onto the field, with Slytherin comprising Keeper Miles Bletchley, Beaters Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick; Chasers Marcus Flint (captain), Graham Montague, and Cassius Warrington; and, finally, Draco Malfoy as Seeker. As for Team Ravenclaw, their line-up comprised Grant Page as Keeper, Duncan Inglebee and Jason Samuels as Beaters; Roger Davies (captain), Jeremy Stretton, and Randolph Burrow as Chasers; and, finally, Cho Chang as Seeker.

"Brooms going up ... balls being released ..." — Jordan sniggered — "and they're off!" He waited for the fourteen brooms to get into their respective positions in the match. "Here comes the Nimbus showdown with a two-generation gap between them! It's a ten-second acceleration of seventy against ninety-five, and a top-speed of ninety against one hundred and twenty! Then there's the extra factors like handling, turning, braking —"

"The match, Jordan," McGonagall said, calm and composed for now. "We're well aware that it's an old Nimbus series against the newest one."

Cho was scarcely interested in the rest of her team's performance, and she kept her eyes on her main opponent, Malfoy, instead. Cho's blue and bronze robes billowed about as she went on the move; unwilling to become an easy target for any Bludgers nearby. Cheers and applause came from all sides of the stadium now, as one of Ravenclaw's Chasers had narrowly stopped an early Slytherin-attempt at goal.

"Unlucky shot by Flint right there, and what a great piece of interception by Stretton!" Jordan said.

The wind had picked up, and Cho braced herself while accelerating near the Hufflepuff stands. She tried to keep watch for any incoming Bludgers, any hint of gold, and the main opponent himself every few seconds.

"Chang and Malfoy are still scouting the perimeter for that elusive bit of gold, and it seems — oh! Here comes Montague through Slytherin's left side of the pitch! He's got the Quaffle in hand, ducks under the oncoming Davies, passes to Warrington down the middle ... and now it's Warrington going forward against the Ravenclaw Keeper! Inglebee's lining up a Bludger shot from the right side of the pitch ... MISSED! And it's Warrington flying forward to throw and ... SCORES! Ten-zero to Slytherin in the opening few minutes —"

Seeing Malfoy wandering around the perimeter gave Cho an idea, and she quickly started cutting across his trajectory — forcing him to change direction every so often.

"Think you're smart, Tornadoes plastic-fan?" Malfoy said, leaning low to accelerate at over a hundred miles per hour, which left Cho lagging behind. The latter pushed her Nimbus to its top speed of ninety miles per hour, which just wasn't enough to match the shrinking blur of green and silver ahead.

"What a show-off!" said Jordan, grunting in disapproval. "Malfoy sped up for no real reason at all. He'd better quit being an annoyi — RAVENCLAW SCORE! Wow, it's a Burrow goal outta nowhere, folks! We're level on ten each! Looks like the Slytherins got distracted by watching their Seeker's speed ... hahaha!"

Cho recalled the tips which Harry had given during their study sessions, and she quickly adapted to cutting corners instead of playing catch-up.

"Look at that!" said Jordan. "Chang's reading Malfoy like a book! There they go, speeding along the right side of the pitch ... Malfoy easily pulls ahead, but everyone's gotta turn sometime, eh? Chang catches him on the turn and just about overtakes — hang on, I think they're chasing the Snitch! Yeah, there it is, by the bottom of the Ravenclaw stands!"

It was home-crowd advantage for Cho as she dived before a sea of blue-and-bronze supporters at their stands. Second by second, the vast expanse of white grew larger as both Seekers accelerated straight towards the snowy field; the Golden Snitch streaking straight ahead as well. All sound faded to a roar of wind in Cho's ears, and she focused on either trickery or victory right here.

"The Snitch is pulling up!" said Jordan, who was barely heard by the two plummeting Seekers — both of whom yanked their brooms upward. Cho recovered quickest after the dive and continued chasing after the Snitch, whose tiny, walnut-sized body zipped about in the air — as if daring Cho to seize it before Malfoy could catch up.

Too late. A fluttering of robes came up from behind, and Cho was forced to swerve on the spot to block Malfoy's incredible burst of speed. He would surely have made an immediate dash for the Snitch had Cho not intervened.

"Excellent control by Seeker Chang!" said Jordan, sounding well and truly pleased at Malfoy's failure. "She risked being overrun with that perfectly legal block right there ... and now both Seekers have been halted in their chase. There they go again, it's Chang and Malfoy accelerating towards the right corner of the pitch now. Malfoy pulls ahead, as expected, and Chang goes along the inner line of the turn ..."

Cho did whatever she could to prolong this match and, if possible, try to find some opening to get that Snitch. But each time she took one step ahead in her chase, Malfoy would streak forward on his damn powerhouse of a broom.

_Git gets careless when he thinks he's about to win ..._

Of course! Cho didn't even need to recall all of Harry's advice as she used her own smarts as well. Now, as she flew across the centre of the pitch (where the Quaffle was currently being contested), Cho raised her left hand and gave the go-ahead signal. Hopefully, either Samuels or Inglebee would see it ...

WHAM!

"Whoa! Inglebee sends a Bludger to — no, wait, that went over. Looks like he sent a Bludger straight over Flint towards Malfoy, who looked totally confused as he braked hard to avoid getting hurt. Focus, Malfoy, it's not all about brainless speed in this game. Yep, he's still a bit disoriented, and Cho's seizing the opportunity to cut that corner and climb behind the Snitch. They're going up, up, aaaaand ... they're coming down again — unlucky!"

Cho came right up to the Snitch, and then she rolled aside as a Bludger whizzed past — courtesy of a Slytherin Beater. The crowd of green and silver boomed with approval while their opposition groaned in response. And then the Slytherins cheered even louder as Cho got rammed off her broom by Malfoy.

"FOUL!" yelled Madam Hooch, her whistle-blast piercing the thunderous crowd. "That's a penalty against Slytherin, Malfoy, for deliberately colliding with another player!"

"Sorry, my bad." Malfoy grinned nonetheless. "Lost control of my flawless broom, I'm afraid."

After picking herself up from the snow, Cho took-off and seized the back-end of Malfoy's broomstick — causing him to lose control and accidentally fly right into the base of a Slytherin goalpost.

BANG!

"Argh!"

"FOUL AGAINST RAVENCLAW!"

"Serves Malfoy right!" said Jordan, cheering. "Er, I mean, that was a most unfortunate bit of foul play against an innocent, respectable Seeker for sure, yes."

All semblance of sportsmanship had left the Slytherin team, as they were losing at sixty points to a hundred and ten. They'd already lost their first match, against Gryffindor, and things weren't going in their favour here either. Bit by bit, they clobbered their way up to a couple more goals ... before Ravenclaw pulled one back in response.

With nothing much to lose, Cho pushed on and goaded Malfoy into committing as many fouls as possible.

"Stop flying in front of me like an irritating fly!" Malfoy elbowed Cho in her side, unintentionally earning Ravenclaw another penalty. "Oh, I see what you're doing ..."

"— SAVED by Bletchley!" said Jordan, once the penalty had been taken. "Slytherin are hanging on for dear Quidditch-Cup-life in this match! We're still a hundred and twenty to eighty in favour of Team Ravenclaw now —"

"I'll flank your left on the turns," Inglebee said to Cho, as the burly Beater came swooping down from above. "Samuels, you're the nimble one; take her right!"

Cho's priority remained Malfoy and the Snitch, and so she sped off in pursuit of both. She then used the added presence of her Beaters to unsettle Malfoy, causing him to accelerate without second thought.

"Whack 'em in the back!" Inglebee said, just before his teammate lined up a Bludger-shot towards the speeding Malfoy ahead.

THUD!

"Son of a —!" Samuels got rammed aside by the oncoming Beater, Bole.

"FOUL!" Madam Hooch blasted her whistle again. "YOU'RE A BEATER, BOLE, NOT A BLUDGER!"

"Malfoy's nearing the Snitch!" yelled Jordan, now standing in his seat. "Look at that damn acceleration! Nought to one hundred and fifty in ten seconds —"

Foul after foul, the Slytherins did whatever it took to keep Cho and her Beaters from hindering Malfoy ... who grew smaller by the second while exploiting his expensive broom. The crowd let loose their cheers and boos as the Firebolt gained on the Snitch, and Cho was swearing to the wind while hunched low on her own broom.

" — penalty put in by Stretton!"

Cho didn't care.

"—Bletchley saves!"

The best part about being a Seeker was being immune to match-breaks if chasing the Snitch. This meant that Cho could ignore all those whistle blasts by Madam Hooch, and focus on tailing her opponent instead. Cho sped, turned, climbed, and dived; her efforts bringing maximum annoyance and hindrance to Malfoy right here.

"How do you expect to win against a Firebolt, huh, Chang?" Malfoy asked, laughing as he sped right up to the Snitch on a climb. "How much did your team spend on that junk? Was it worth it?" He spun around to match the Snitch's sudden U-turn. "Halfway to a Firebolt's price, right?"

Cho caught the boastful Malfoy as he lagged on initiating a dive, both players now inches away from the Snitch. Then came an elbow to Cho's face, and she yanked on the Firebolt's left bipod ... to which Malfoy stomped on her hand.

"Don't touch what you can't afford." Malfoy followed through on a vertical loop of the Snitch, and Cho cut straight through the trajectory of the turn. They were neck and neck now; the frantic ball of gold evading Malfoy's haphazard swipes. "Just—stay—still! Get lost, Chang!"

The final foul of the match was a kick to Cho's right shoulder, and she nearly fell off her broom (while far above the field) in response. Then she looked up and saw Malfoy clinch the Golden Snitch at last ... seemingly ending the match.

"MALFOY'S CAUGHT IT —" Jordan was then cut off by ...

"HOLD ON!" yelled Madam Hooch, gathering a dozen players in the centre of the pitch. "Yes, yes, congratulations to Mr. Malfoy for catching the Golden Snitch. However, we still have one more penalty to take before I officially end this game."

"WHAT?" Malfoy and his team raised their voices in protest ... until Madam Hooch blew her whistle right in their faces. "AAAARGH!"

"Poppy can deal with any damaged eardrums; not my problem." Madam Hooch then tossed the Quaffle to Roger Davies. "Right, I don't care if that last foul happened right before the Snitch was caught; the rules must be followed."

"But the match ends right when the Snitch _is_ caught!" said Montague, rubbing his ears.

"Exactly, but that foul happened right _before_ the match had ended," said Madam Hooch. "Davies, proceed with whoever is to take the penalty."

"Post-match goal, here we come!" Davies positioned himself in the centre of the pitch, sped forward, and then proceeded to challenge Bletchley at the hoops.

"Well, er, cool," said Jordan, while the Slytherins were furiously debating among one another. "That's a goal for the Ravenclaw captain after the match had ended, but it was taken from a foul which happened just before the Snitch was caught. And there we go, folks. Our final score for today is two hundred and seventy to one hundred and eighty; the match ending in favour of Slytherin!

"That brings our current standings to: Ravenclaw on four hundred and seventy, Slytherin on three hundred and forty, Gryffindor on two hundred and seventy, and Hufflepuff on sixty. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff still with two games in hand while Slytherin and Ravenclaw have just one left. And as for our next match ... that'll be Gryffindor against Ravenclaw on the 5th of February. Have a good day, people, and get back to those studies!"

So Team Ravenclaw was still on top, despite their loss to Slytherin — which meant that they regrouped for a rather positive post-match debriefing from Roger Davies. There was a buzz of excitement throughout the locker room, and Ravenclaw in general, seeing as the odds were in their favour. All that remained was to ensure a decent win against Gryffindor next month, and then Ravenclaw would set the score on top. However, if Gryffindor won while denying their opponents a chance to regularly score, then the Cup would be anyone's for the taking.

Well, Cho wasn't in the least bit upset over Ravenclaw's defeat. She had done her part in giving her Chasers a chance to up the tally and show why Quidditch was about more than just catching the Golden Snitch.

* * *

Elsewhere, Harry was trying his best to contain his vindictive grin at his substitute's performance, given that Draco had flown the best broom in the world against an old Nimbus. The only ones who knew how Harry felt were Pansy's group, who were also merely pretending to be disappointed at today's result. And it was quite hilarious to hear the comments being thrown about as hundreds of students made their way up the snowy lawns after the match.

"Well done, Malfoy!" said Lee Jordan, who had left his commentator's podium and rejoined Fred and George in the crowd.

"Yeah, well done, mate! Nice work out there," Fred said.

"Hey," said George, "did you people know that it takes over a thousand Galleons just to match our performance? Two hundred and seventy points ... that's what we got against them in November!"

Some of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had also voiced their opinions, with the main joke being that Team Slytherin had to rely on a Gryffindor win or a poor performance from both them or Ravenclaw in the next match.

"This is just like the football Premier League," Dean Thomas said while walking with a crowd of Gryffindors. "They gotta rely on their rivals to mess up near the top, just so that they can jump the log and somehow clinch the Cup. What a sad situation to be in, really."

Harry was waiting for it ... and then he heard the statements which made him smile. Loads of students were in agreement that it should've been him playing instead of Draco Malfoy. "Ah, what a day, huh?"

Pansy sniggered as they entered the castle, and then she dropped her voice to a whisper amidst the countless students. "Let's see if Draco learns some humility after this. Now go finish your plans to help Hagrid's favourite chicken at its hearing."

"I'm working on it," Harry said, sharing the same, mischievous grin as Pansy. It was quite infectious at times, really.

Suffice to say, Harry and his best Slytherin-friends had themselves a delicious, enjoyable lunch that afternoon. Everything was proceeding well with regards to their mischief and scheming these days, which was exactly what he'd hoped for.

"Honestly," Draco said in the common room that evening, "it's like the old hag doesn't even know what 'end' means. The match was supposed to _end _right when I, as expected, caught the Golden Snitch. If a penalty gets missed, it's the referee's fault for being too slow ... and old."

"Our team got cheated," Zabini said, "just because Hooch used to be a Ravenclaw herself back in the day."

More Slytherins, especially some of the older students, were quick to say their say across the common room. Some even went so far as to suggest that Madam Hooch be sacked, and that a vote of no confidence be given against the Headmaster — all for just a ten-point controversy.

"Professor Dumbledore?" One of the younger girls asked from her seat at a table. "But, why do you people not like him? I think he's cool, and he gave Harry Potter loads of points back in his first year, or so I heard."

"We didn't even need those dumb points anyway," an older boy said, waving aside one of Harry's finest moments. "Professor Oldhead probably did it to suck up to Slytherin House, as he should."

"That's enough," said Harry, slamming his History of Magic textbook shut. "I'm not gonna just sit here and listen to you insult the Headmaster."

"Don't listen to Potter," a seventh-year girl said. "He must've taken one-too-many hits from his Muggles to actually like the man who dumped him there in the first place. Dumbledore's a rotten old pig."

Prefect Yasmin had heard enough; and she, too, shut her textbook shut. "I'll take two points from Slytherin for insulting our Headmaster like that, and another point from Slytherin for making fun of Harry's upbringing."

"And I'll be taking three points from Slytherin for whoever it was that insulted Madam Hooch," said Adrian Pucey. And by this point, the sixth and seventh-year prefects were also on high alert for any insults and defamation of character.

The rest of January passed by without anything of note, although many Slytherins remained furious over Madam Hooch's decision.


	15. Moving Out

The arrival of February brought a welcome change to Harry's Anti-Dementor lessons, as he was able to produce his longest incorporeal Patronus yet — with the aid of using his basic Occlumency skills to block out the Boggart-Dementor's effects.

"Splendid!" said Lupin, who banished the Boggart into its packing trunk. "At this rate, we just _might _be able to glimpse its true form soon."

"What do you think it could be?" Harry asked, and Lupin shrugged.

"The true Patronus is unique to its caster, I'm afraid." He gave Harry an appraising look. "Is there a specific reason you'd like to know?"

"I was just curious, sir; that's all."

The next day turned out to be one of the strangest Fridays Harry's had this term. First, there was Oliver Wood — who bribed Harry with a Butterbeer in exchange for getting some extra information on Cho's skills; and then there was the sudden rift between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, which came out of nowhere.

"It's all about their pets, you see," Lavender Brown said, as Harry approached her in the corridors after lunch. "Ron's blaming Crookshanks for eating Scabbers, because of some blood and ginger cat hairs he found on his bed, but Hermione insists there's no real 'proof' of Crookshanks being at fault, which is also kinda true."

Harry let out a low whistle. "Sounds like one big mess of an argument."

"It is."

It wasn't long until word had spread about the hostilities in Gryffindor house, with none being more pleased about it than Draco and friends. They took to provoking Ron and Hermione at almost every opportunity in the corridors, often eliciting the desired reaction from the former. More than once had a prefect or staff member caught Ron cussing or drawing his wand at Draco's group — who naturally played innocent on the spot.

Of all the Slytherins, Harry was probably the only one making an effort to hear both sides of the argument — which took him from the courtyards to the stone circle outside; from Ron to Hermione.

"Real hypocrite, isn't she?" Ron said while playing Gobstones against Harry in a snowy courtyard. "She's so worried about that dumb Hippogriff but doesn't care that her stupid cat ate my rat! All she does is sit and study _all day_. You'd think she'd be a fat slob by now."

On the flip side ...

"Cats eat rats!" Hermione said while sitting on a large, flat stone — after having cleared away the ice. "What part of that doesn't he understand? And besides, those cat hairs could've been there since Christmas!"

"You can't blame Ronald for overreacting," said Harry, and Hermione gave a sarcastic laugh.

"Why? Because it was his 'beloved' family pet? Oh, please; he always complained about Scabbers just eating and sleeping all the time anyway." She sighed. "Whose side are you on, Harry?"

"Yours, if you could _convince _me well enough," Harry said, grinning, although Hermione just blinked and returned to her books.

If Harry thought his day was eventful enough as is, he was mistaken. That evening, while he was lying across a common-room couch (with Pansy sitting right next to him), a group of students came rushing in through the door, with Draco carrying his Firebolt in his arms.

"POTTER!"

Shocked out of his peaceful relaxation, Harry bolted upright and turned to face the dozen or so students. "What? Why's everyone acting all crazy?"

"Yeah!" said Pansy, while the rest of her gang came to surround the couch. "Since when are you _this _upset over anything, Draco?"

"LOOK — AT — THIS!" Draco tossed his badly scratched Firebolt at Harry. "JEALOUS LOSER, AREN'T YOU? JUST BECAUSE I SHOWED MINE FIRST!"

There was no mistaking it; someone _had _taken out their frustrations on Draco's broom, although it wasn't Harry. "You really think I'd stoop this low?" Harry asked, as he surveyed the claw-like gashes. "Looks like an animal or something scratched it."

"Nobody's pet's got that big claws, Potter, and I only left the Firebolt unattended for three minutes ... THREE MINUTES in our locker room!" said Draco, who shoved a first-year out of her chair before claiming it. "My father's already heard about this ... I wrote him a letter straight away, as did Professor Snape."

But Harry wasn't listening; not as he saw the first-year girl sitting — terrified — among her friends at the fireplace. "Listen here, Malfoy; I don't care if you take out your frustrations on me for that broom, but leave the youngsters out of this."

"They're weak. Who cares?"

"I do," said Harry, and then he saw Millicent approach the first-year to calm her down. "See? Why can't you be more like Millicent over there?"

"Don't compare Malfoy to one of your half-blood pals," Nott said, glaring at Harry while standing beside Draco. "And you still didn't answer the question about what happened to this broom!"

Nearly a dozen Slytherins started accosting Harry in the common room ... until the prefects finally arrived to regain order.

"What in hell is going on around here?" Yasmin asked, looking left and right so fast that her long brown ponytail went swishing about. And then she listened as Draco and friends told of the Firebolt situation. "And why would Harry do something so stupid? Use your brains, idiots!"

"Yeah," said Flint, standing in the centre of the crowd. "I don't think Potter did this."

"Do you even think?" some sixth-year boy asked, although quickly ducking once Flint turned around. Then it was another round of conspiracy theories and muttering until Professor Snape entered the long underground room.

"Potter, come with me."

Having no say in the matter, Harry stood up and followed Snape out of the common room — and into the corridor outside. "Professor, I haven't even been near Malfoy's broom all day. And why would I even do this anyway?"

"Stand over by that wall, Potter."

"Wha — Hey!" Harry was partially prepared as he instinctively put all of Dumbledore's training to use, as Snape caught him off guard with a sudden Legilimency-attack on his mind. "You can't just go around invading people's privacy, Professor!"

"What are you hiding, then?" Snape asked, after he'd ceased his attack. "So you think you can get away with even more daring incidents these days, now that the Headmaster has given you the tools to protect your mind?"

"What? I was hanging out with Ronald and Hermione during our free period and lunch. Then there were classes and all that other stuff as well!" Harry placed no less than three metres between Snape and himself now. "You know, I'm quite surprised that Malfoy hasn't tried blaming this one on Buckbeak too!"

"Who's Buckbeak?"

"One of the Hippogriffs!" said Harry, seething at Snape's use of Legilimency on him. "What, are you taking me to Professor Dumbledore now?"

"The Headmaster believes that you are innocent, unfortunately," said Snape, eyeing Harry in a rather nasty manner. "Do you know who else did such spiteful things against a Slytherin's possessions, Potter?"

"Yeah, yeah, probably my father again."

"Correct. Not to mention your same, smug, sneering face as well."

"My dad didn't sneer, and nor do I," said Harry. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you could lower your wand, sir."

"Get out of my sight! And if I so much as _hear _you tampering with Draco's broom, Pott — where do you think you're going?"

"Well, I can't enter the common room while you're looking at it, then, can I?"

Such cheek ended up earning Harry the inevitable detention for being like his father, and so he stormed into the common room, slammed the door, and took a seat in a far corner — where Pansy gave him a quick hug. "It's OK!" she said. "Everyone's settled down and believes you're innocent. Just don't ask Draco for an apology, 'cos you'll never get it anyway."

"Snape didn't give you a hard time again, did he?" Sally-Anne asked as she stood beside Harry's chair. "What, he _did_?"

"Let's set off a dung bomb in his office, then," said Tracey. "Oh, all right, just joking."

Harry later accepted the miniscule hint of an apology from Draco, as they all settled into their beds for the night. But the damage was done, and Harry grew even more determined to get back at his roommate, even if it meant sucking up (even more) to Cho Chang.

And 'suck up' was exactly what he did the next morning, as he cornered Cho in the fifth-floor corridor — before breakfast. "Hey, um, just so you know, Oliver Wood bribed me with some Butterbeer to get some info on you yesterday."

"Oh, really?" Cho asked, narrowing her eyes but keeping cool nonetheless. "And what did you say?"

"Sort of a lot, but, er, not too much ..." Harry proceeded to explain all about his vague tip-off, and then he apologised — which was accepted by Cho.

"No worries; I can change some of that for today," she said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Thanks for tipping me off about your tip-off, though."

Team Ravenclaw's final match of the season was fairly similar to their second, although Gryffindor didn't play nearly as dirty as Slytherin had. It was a back and forth battle of attack and counterattack throughout their match, with both Oliver Wood and Grant Page being called into action plenty of times. Then there were the two sets of Beaters, both of whom chased down and gave the Bludgers — and their opponents — little respite throughout the game. And when it came to the Golden Snitch, Cho was just a tad too much for Ginny Weasley to handle; the former edging ahead to claim the win.

"NOOOOOO!" Lee Jordan yelled over his magical megaphone. "GRYFFINDOR ARE GONNA HAVE TO WIN BIG IN OUR FINAL MATCH! IT'S DO OR DIE FOR THE CUP NOW, LIONS!"

Today's match ended on one hundred and twenty to two hundred in favour of Ravenclaw, which meant that six hundred and seventy was the score to beat. Gryffindor and Slytherin each had one match left against Hufflepuff, who were now the dark horses (figuratively speaking) to claim the Cup. As for the total standings, Ravenclaw were on top, Gryffindor sat on three hundred and ninety, Slytherin had three hundred and forty, and Hufflepuff remained in forth — but with two games in hand.

Harry knew that it was anyone's for the taking. Ravenclaw had it in their favour if the rest of the teams performed poorly in the end, Gryffindor could leap the log if they hammered Hufflepuff in the former's final match, Slytherin had it pretty much the same as Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff could clinch it should they dominate both of their matches.

Meanwhile, investigations continued into the mysterious attack on Draco's broom — causing many students to be questioned by their Heads of House throughout the rest of that day. But try as they might, none could match the deep gashes on the Firebolt to any known pet in or around the castle, and neither could they match the markings to any known spells performed by a student in under three minutes (or less, considering the time taken to sneak in and out of the locker room undetected). It was a mystery that seemed all but impossible to solve.

"This is exactly why my father wanted to replace Dumbledore last year," Draco said in the evening, while dozens of Slytherins lounged about their common room. "Every time something big happens, Dumbledore does nothing but sit in his office all damn day, or he's forever gone on his other 'official duties'. What kind of a Headmaster neglects his own school like that? Bet McGonagall does all the work anyway."

Harry shot a scathing look across the common room. "About your father and last year —"

"Madam Hooch said it's slightly fortunate that the damage was limited to the woodwork itself," Draco said, immediately changing the topic. "But I think Father's just going to buy a new Firebolt anyway. We can _afford _the best again, you see."

Just then, the common-room door flew open as Snape rushed inside; his expression absolutely livid.

_Oh, come on._ Harry quickly pretended to be asleep on the couch. _Not me again._

"Nobody is to leave the common room until further notice," said Snape, taking deep, loud breaths while speaking. "IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Wh-what happened, Professor?" one of the sixth-year prefects asked.

"Black's been sighted _within _Gryffindor Tower this time; the deranged delinquent was basically standing right over third-year Weasley's bed when he was spotted."

"WHAT?" many a student yelled, horrified.

"Not only that," said Snape, "but the swine then had the nerve to carve the word 'git' into my office door, likely on his escape out the castle. Potter, you're getting a week's detention for this."

"The hell did I do?"

"Yeah, what did he do?" Pansy asked, as did the rest of those who supported Harry.

"From what Peeves has just told us, Black got enough time to vandalise my door, even after Weasley's alert, due to jumping off the seventh-floor landing of the Grand Staircase. _You _probably gave him that idea in the first place, Potter!"

It wasn't the best of nights for Harry thereafter. He kept on ignoring the words of consolation from his housemates (especially Yasmin, who had a soft spot for him since his first year) as they all sat waiting (and eventually sleeping) in the common room for some news. Then, by dawn, Snape returned in an even fouler mood than usual — as Sirius Black had slipped away again, somehow.

Harry cared little for the extra security measures enforced from Sunday onwards; he just slept nice and late until noon, when he finally got up for brunch. And neither did he care that Neville Longbottom had been blamed for leaving a list of passwords lying about, which Black had found. In fact, Harry simply kept low and carried on with his detention-filled week ahead, even though he ended up missing all of his extracurricular activities then. There was no meeting up with Cho or Ginny, and neither could Harry make it in time for his Anti-Dementor lesson with Lupin; Snape had just messed up Harry's whole schedule for that week, as expected.

"Don't look so glum like a bum," Daphne said during Friday's History of Magic class. "You won't die from one messed up week, Harry."

"If only Black could've put more than just 'git' on Snape's door." Harry looked up and saw the ghostly Binns still with his back turned while lecturing at the blackboard. "Git deserves it."

By the end of the day, Harry stalled for time as he snuck into an alcove, behind a tapestry, in the first-floor corridor after class. He'd let everyone else head for dinner while he made up any excuse to take a quick look at his map.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

From what Harry saw, Hagrid was headed towards the main gates — with Buckbeak in tow. This was it; the time for Hagrid's dreaded hearing had come, although Harry could hardly wish him luck. He, as well as everyone else, was forbidden from leaving the castle after sunset.

"Mischief Managed."

On Saturday, Harry felt far too indignant (over his constant punishments) to even bother with today's Hogsmeade trip. He just wasn't in the mood to wander around and buy some random crap while still being blamed over everything. And he therefore spent most of the day catching up with his homework in the library. Well, at least he wasn't alone in here ...

"I don't blame you for ignoring Hogsmeade, Harry," Hermione said, as they sat near the back of the library. "If you ask me, I'd rather be catching up with all this work than waste time wandering about a village."

"And how exactly do you even take all these subjects, huh?"

"Oh, um, clever planning ... I guess!" Hermione gave a nervous smile and buried her face behind a Muggle Studies book. "Fascinating this, yes ... Amazing what the wizards think of Muggles ... Amazing what they do and do not know ..."

"You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"

Hermione remained hidden behind her textbook. "Says who?"

"Says how much I know you," said Harry, moving his chair closer to his crush. "There's only one way I can think of you being in all those classes at once. Are you brewing Polyjuice Potion in secret again? And which students are you paying to take your place, huh? Who'd be that mental?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry."

"Look at that timetable of yours; it's _ridiculous_!"

To Hermione's relief, Madam Pince rounded the corner and demanded immediate silence from both students, which they quickly agreed to. But Harry wasn't about to let this major mystery go unsolved, and he resolved to figure out Hermione's secret somehow ... someday.

"This isn't over."

"Oh, hush, Harry."

To Harry's relief, all of his missed sessions were soon made up by their respective persons throughout the next day. Dumbledore had agreed to meet up after breakfast, Cho saw Harry before lunch, Ginny was as excited as ever for being tutored (after lunch), and Lupin scheduled an Anti-Dementor lesson just before dinner.

"Oh well, I suppose Professor Snape's _never_ going to change," said Lupin, at the conclusion of today's lesson. "Just take it off your mind and focus on your Patronus instead. It's starting to take on the slightest of forms these days."

But the best news of all (for Harry) had come on Sunday evening, when Draco Malfoy sat fuming near the common-room fireplace. "A total disgrace to our justice system!" he said, hurling a crumpled-up newspaper into the fire. "That bunch of old, incompetent Committee idiots done Father a real foul one! What a disgrace of a trial —"

At that moment, Harry chose to slip into his dormitory and snigger himself to bed; no doubt he'd hear this tale in a more positive light from Hagrid tomorrow.

* * *

"Good morning to you all!" some random wizard said at Hagrid's cabin on Monday morning. "I'll be supervising the next two weeks' worth of lessons, if you don't mind."

"Who's that?" whispered many a student to one another, until Draco narrowed his eyes.

"You're that Diggory boy's father, aren't you?" Draco asked as he dumped his schoolbag in the snow. "Suppose you thought it was real funny to make a mockery of my injury at that trial, huh?"

Ron and Hermione both gasped, for Hagrid had decided to withhold the good news until today (as requested by Harry).

"Mornin' all!" said Hagrid, leading his group of Hippogriffs out from the Forbidden Forest, with Buckbeak right at the front. "Beautiful day, ain't it? Oh, and fer those who migh' not know, this here's Amos Diggory from the Department fer the Regulation and Control o' Magical Creatures. He'll be on-hand ter supervise our perfectly safe lesson on Hippogriffs, includin' Buckbeak!"

It was a lesson well worth enjoying as, firstly, Mr. Diggory was a blast with the students; secondly, Draco was hopelessly unable to sabotage today's class; and, thirdly, Hagrid had regained his confidence and made for a pretty decent Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

"Harry, I can' thank yeh enough fer yer help," said Hagrid, once the bell had rung and most of the class had left. "An' Ron an' Hermione too, o' course. I jus' wish yeh coulda bin there ter see the smug look fadin' off Lucius Malfoy's face, when Amos an' friends arrived."

"I ... don't understand," Hermione said, confused but delighted nonetheless.

"Yeah, I thought our bit of research would be more than enough," said Ron. "How about explaining the whole thing, just so we know?"

"OK, bu' this'll have ter be quick. Wouldn' wanna make yeh late fer yer classes an' all ..."

Harry, meanwhile, shook hands with Mr. Diggory — who had only heard of him, up until recently. "Thank you for your help, sir. Really, Hagrid and Buckbeak did nothing wrong back then."

"No problem, but I'd be more concerned with my housemates, if I were you." said Mr. Diggory, giving Harry a stern look. "Dangerous family when crossed, the Malfoys ... I think it's best that you hurry along and pretend to be understanding. Oh, and don't be too upset when Cedric jumps right up the table in the end; that Quidditch Cup's as good as his."

Truth be told, Harry couldn't care less about winning the Cup this year. All that mattered was that his cleverly arranged retribution had worked thus far. And so, with that in mind, he battled to contain his grin while walking up the frosty lawns.

"Oh, Harry!"

He turned around just in time to see Hermione throw herself at him in a hug. "Hey! Keep it down!" Harry said, grinning nonetheless. "Never know who's got eyes and ears out here."

"Why didn't you tell us about those backroom deals of yours?" Hermione asked, beaming. "Really, how did you get _Amos Diggory_, of all people, to come and assist Hagrid at his hearing? If not for them, well, even with our notes ..."

"Hagrid said he was _this_ close to fumbling around," said Ron, who came up the lawn behind Hermione. "Bet Malfoy hated getting a taste of his own medicine like that. About time someone made _him_ look like a fool."

Harry smiled. "Just pretend that I wasn't involved in helping Hagrid that much, and everything will be fine." _Actually, I don't care._

"Got it," said Ron. "Now, if only you could organise a certain family pet some justice —"

"SHUT UP!" said Hermione, storming away in anger.

"Still got it in for her, eh?" Harry asked, and Ron nodded.

"Until she owns up and apologises ... yeah."

Harry shook his head and went on his way. It was easy enough to slip in with the rest of his lessons, and it was a pleasure to listen to Draco's rants and raves throughout the rest of that day.

"What you looking at me for?" Harry asked Draco, as they sat in Divination later on.

"Something tells me you were involved in helping that oaf —"

Daphne immediately accosted Draco for this. "Just leave him alone already, for God's sake! Hagrid's his friend ... so what?"

"Potter, did you help that oaf with his trial or not?" Draco asked, glaring at Harry again.

"I gave him some tips, yes." Harry crossed his arms and glared right back at his roommate. "You started this whole mess by sabotaging his class, remember? And now your father had to endure that defeat because of _your_ actions, Malfoy."

"What happened to Slytherin loyalty —"

"My dears!" Trelawney strode towards their tables. "Why are you not paying attention in my class? Is my subject _that_ unimportant to you?"

"Treachery," said Draco, looking from Harry to Trelawney, "coming from my own damn roommate, Professor."

Harry saw the angered expression on Trelawney's face (more for having her lesson disrupted than anything else) and immediately got an idea. "Hold on, didn't you foresee this, ma'am? You once saw a fox in Theodore Nott's teacup —"

"Nott doesn't even take this class anymore!" said Draco. "What's that got to do with anything, traitor?"

"Nott's your ally, isn't he? And Zabini's too, right?" Harry kept a straight face while speaking. "So my actions in favour of Hagrid were basically a betrayal against you ... which would account for Professor Trelawney seeing that fox in Nott's teacup."

Trelawney looked more relieved than anything else at the moment. "Yes indeed! I'm afraid to say, Mr. Malfoy, that the fates had already issued their warnings, and that we cannot blame Mr. Potter for merely floating along with life's currents."

"This is the end of our acquaintanceship, then, Potter," said Malfoy. "How's that for _life's currents_?"

Zabini finally spoke. "About time; never really liked him anyway. What a waste of potential."

"There we go!" said Harry, inwardly laughing as he slapped his hand on the table. "Professor, I remember you seeing a coat in my friend, Sally-Anne's, teacup. That was an 'ensuing separation', right?"

"Yes," said Trelawney, thoroughly impressed. "I foresaw her leaving my class back then, and now I suppose it could also be interpreted as having foreseen today's events."

Malfoy was lost for words, as were Crabbe and Goyle — as usual. But as for Daphne and Pansy, they were clearly impressed (and amused) at Harry's smooth-spoken counterattacks right here.

"Move out of that dormitory, if possible," said Pansy, once they'd all left the classroom. "I don't need my Inner Eye to predict that they'll attack you, baby Potter. And no Bloody Baron's gonna smooth things over, this time."

Harry agreed but quickly recalled Snape's personal bias. "This'll have to go right up the chain, then; either McGonagall or Dumbledore will have to take action here. No way am I sleeping in a room full of foes." He then put on a mock-spooky voice while saying, "Enemies of the heir, beware!"

"Not funny!" said Daphne, flicking a lock of blonde hair aside. "Wait, you can share a room with us! But I suppose you'll have to keep your horny-boy urges in big check, then, Mister."

They soon met up with Millicent, Tracey, and Sally-Anne, who were all shocked at today's events.

"That piece of shit!" Millicent almost slammed her fist against a suit of armour in the Entrance Hall. "Why's he all butthurt that you did the right thing? His stupid daddy got what was coming to him; that arrogant, Muggle-doll-looking prick."

"Honestly," said Sally-Anne, tying her hair into a ponytail. "I doubt the staff will see Harry fit enough to share space with a handful of beautiful birds like us. He'll be thinking of nothing but shagging all the time. Hey, I'm just, like, telling it like it is."

Pansy laughed. "Is that what goes through your head, Harry? The one up here, I mean."

"Well, er, what else would a guy think when sharing a room with some girls ... in a boarding school?" Then he saw Professor McGonagall crossing the Entrance Hall. "Shit, look serious, girls; straight faces ..."

"Potter, come with me," McGonagall said, and Harry wordlessly followed her up to her office, where she offered him a seat by the large fireplace. "As admirable as your actions were, Potter, I must admit that it's becoming a tad wearisome to hear the constant influx of praise coming from Hagrid. Now, if you do not mind, I'd like to hear the whole story of how a handful of Ministry officials — excuse the pun — magically came to Hagrid's aid."

There was no point in lying, especially since McGonagall herself had a history with the Ministry of Magic. Harry therefore explained all about how he'd organised help from Cho and the rest.

"Potter, you do realise that you've sabotaged your own teammates' efforts against Ravenclaw, correct?"

There was no point in lying, especially since McGonagall herself had a history with the Ministry of Magic. Harry therefore explained all about how he'd organised help from Cho and the rest.

"Potter, you do realise that you've sabotaged your own teammates' efforts against Ravenclaw, correct?"

There was a reason why Harry secretly found a certain big bad Dark wizard (not Voldemort) interesting, and he kept a neutral expression while responding. "I know it sounds bad, but, I think it's for the best. Malfoy almost learned his lesson, an innocent creature got saved, and Hagrid's got more of his confidence back. And besides, Malfoy still won on that big, fancy broom of his."

"Very well," said McGonagall, looking a tad sceptical but understanding nonetheless. "However, I've heard some rather interesting speculations from Sybill Trelawney; she seems to believe you'll be meeting your end in your dormitory room. Care to explain this tripe, Potter?"

It didn't take much convincing, on Harry's part, to shed light on the severity of things. "Look, Professor, I know we can forcibly keep the peace and all that, but ... is it really worth the headache? Just moving me out of that toxic room would be for the good of everyone, really." He put on his best anxious expression in the hopes of appealing to the maternal nature (beneath all the strictness) within McGonagall. "Even Professor Snape would appreciate not having to worry about the safety of his own student, in their own room, every night."

"And do you honestly believe that your fellow students would attack you?"

Harry already saw this question coming. "I really don't want to give Professor Dumbledore something else to worry about, not when I already bother him enough as it is with my private lessons."

McGonagall gave this a fair bit of thought. "Potter, the problem is that Slytherin House doesn't carry the enchantments of Godric Gryffindor, as I'm sure you're aware. Boys are perfectly capable of sneaking into the girls' dormitories there, should we even consider moving you. And who's to say some of the girls themselves aren't harbouring hostilities towards you, too? You've been pretty much fine thus far, for nearly three years now."

"But things only picked up from last year ..." And Harry proceeded to remind McGonagall of the thwarted diary plans, the freeing of Dobby, the sacking of Lucius Malfoy from the board of governors, and whatever else might've caused a rift between him and some of his housemates. "There's a fair bit of haters down there, ma'am."

"And you plan on just fleeing?"

"I plan on being less of a headache for the staff," said Harry, leaning back in his seat.

"Given your ... tumultuous age, Potter, I'd be hesitant to put you with those young ladies." McGonagall placed her elbows on her desk. "Well, I'd be hesitant to put _any_ male student in the same dormitory as a female; it just doesn't happen at this school ... or anywhere else, for that matter. What about the older boys' rooms? Mr. Flint and most of your team are on good enough terms with you."

"They're not going to be around forever, though ..."

McGonagall sighed. "What to do with you, Potter ... What to do ..."

Harry felt like a lost little puppy at this point. "Send me back to my own dormitory and watch the sparks — and spells — fly, ma'am. Might be a few snakebites, too."

"Now, _really_, Potter ..." McGonagall took more than a few seconds to reach her decision. "I'll have Professor Snape relocate you to the third-year girls' dormitory room, with some additional protective enchantments. And for goodness sake, Potter, do not do _anything_ of a questionable nature with your roommates."

"I — what?"

"We'll try this for a week, and if it's unsatisfactory" — she frowned at Harry's unintentional smile — "I mean, if there are too many distractions present, Potter, then we'll need to devise an alternative plan. Off you go, now."

Harry turned around and took his leave, just as McGonagall summoned Snape (via the school's internal Floo network) up to her office. It was always a matter of 'when', rather than 'if', Harry would ever be leaving his toxic excuse of a dormitory room.


	16. Padfoot

"That's right, get out," said Malfoy, who watched as Harry packed his trunk now, "and don't _ever_ come back."

Nott drew his wand. "How could you go and choose some brainless caveman over your own roommate? You've got one minute before we attack you, filthy half-blood traitor!"

Zabini looked livid as well. "You made a big mistake messing with the Malfoys, Potter. First you freed their elf, and now you sabotage their hearing too?"

"We gonna get 'im?" asked Crabbe, to which Goyle nodded.

Harry, on the other hand, was as calm as ever while packing his things. "Are you people even listening to yourselves? You so much as point a wand at me and you'll be sorry."

"Is that so?" Malfoy looked affronted at being threatened, and he immediately took aim at Harry. _"Petrificus—"_

_"Serpensortia!"_ Harry sent the conjured snake straight at Malfoy's neck—without biting, of course. Then he caught Crabbe and Goyle in a Knockback Jinx, threw up a weak Shield Charm to deflect Zabini's hex back at him, and blasted Nott off his feet with a Disarming Charm. "Choke on that, scum!"

It wasn't too long until the dormitory door flew open as Snape stepped in. "If any of you are fighti—" He then saw Malfoy, on his knees, being strangled by a conjured snake.

"They surrounded me, sir," said Harry, who'd just finished packing his trunk. "Five on one."

Snape said nothing as he vanished the snake and ushered Harry out the room; into the narrow passageway outside. From here, Harry turned left at the T-junction and passed a couple passages (leading to the second and first-year dormitories) before reaching the common-room area.

Pansy was already waiting for him at the entrance to the girls' dormitories, which was opposite that of the boys' side. "What took you so long?"

"Got attacked; so I kicked arse." He smiled at Pansy's gasp. "I honestly don't think Snape's gonna punish them that much... but who cares?"

"I do! They could've hurt you!"

"No, they couldn't." Harry followed Pansy through the door, down a tunnel, and then left at the third-year girls' passageway. "Still looks pretty much the same as our side." However, once he'd stepped through the door at the end of the tunnel, Harry just knew it would be a long struggle in here.

The room had a similar, circular layout to the boys' one—and there was even a sixth bed to accommodate Harry. The walls were of a greyish stone design, and each one of the four-poster beds was draped with emerald curtains too. But, if there was one key difference between this room and Harry's former dormitory, in his opinion, it was the smell. Gone were the smelliness of socks, especially from Crabbe and Goyle, and gone were the sweatiness and who knew what other smells which permeated that room. Here, Harry took in the mix of perfume, shampoo, hair being dried, etc. which left him with a pleasant smile on his face.

"Oh look," said Sally-Anne, who was using her wand as a Muggle might use a hairdryer. "A wild boy has appeared out of nowhere."

"He looks scared," said Daphne, laughing. "We're not gonna bite or anything, Harry."

Tracey sat up, on her bed, and snorted. "He probably expected us to be naked and playing with each other, or something. Er, boy, we actually have the decency to change in our own bathrooms, now that you're here."

"Now we can paint your fingernails and toenails pink!" said Pansy, laughing at Harry's horrified expression. "Just joking, man."

As Harry surveyed the room, he saw that the beds pretty much ran clockwise as follows: his, Pansy's, Sally-Anne's, space for the door, Millicent, Tracey's, and then Daphne's. Then, he got a sudden image of doing naughty things with the girls, which he quickly brushed aside. "This is gonna be a long stay, ladies."

Pansy crossed her arms. "Your bathroom's through the door next to your bed, if you need to rub one out. Or two, three... whatever. Oh, and shhhhh for now. Millicent is sleeping."

"Stop looking so agitated," said Daphne to Harry. "You came from the home of so many bad wizards, including the Dark Lord himself, and are now in the land of the bad witches, mm-hmm. We've had, what, Alecto Carrow, Pansy's mum, Bellatrix Lestrange, and who knows what else in here over the decades."

Pansy tilted her head. "My mom isn't _that_ evil."

"And now there's a lad in here, eww," said Sally-Anne, spraying the air with a bottle of perfume. "Don't stink up the place with your sweat and farts, OK?"

"Ha!" Harry placed his trunk at his bedside. "As if you girls don't do that as well." Then, once he'd settled into his new home, he listened to Tracey's retelling of Snape's lecture to the girls earlier.

"...he basically just told us to be mature and keep ourselves in check and all that," she said, shrugging.

* * *

By Tuesday morning, news of Harry's relocation had spread throughout the entire school, and he ended up having a variety of discussions with many students.

"I hope the staff know what they're doing," said Hermione, during Care of Magical Creatures after breakfast. "Letting you, of all people, into a girls' dormitory is risky business."

Harry placed his chin on her right shoulder. "How about I show you some 'risky business'?"

She swept him off with her hand. "Anyway, you should try and get one of these Hippogriffs to let you fly them, just like Ron did in our first lesson."

Next up came Herbology, and Harry spent a fair bit of time quelling whatever rumours were going around Ravenclaw. "Nah, guys, I don't do any of that stuff with the girls."

"But, what's it like to be in their dormitory?" Michael Corner asked. "Don't you miss the lads?"

Kevin Entwhistle, a somewhat timid boy, glanced from Malfoy's group to Harry's. "Is it really _that_ bad down there?"

"He should be grateful he's gone, the traitor," said Malfoy, although shutting his mouth once the girls glared at him. "Yeah, hide behind the women, Potter... just like you hide behind Chang sometimes."

One of the Ravenclaws, Su Li, narrowed her eyes and scowled. "Leave Cho out of this, Malfoy."

Professor Sprout ceased the hostilities and threatened house-point deduction, unless they carried on working. And then it was time for lunch, where Harry nearly walked into Cho as he entered the Great Hall.

"Sorry."

"Those boys aren't giving you any more trouble, are they?" Cho sounded surprisingly concerned, and Harry almost forgot that she was only a year older than him— judging by how she acted. "I'll get them next year when I'm prefect, just you watch."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, but there's no need to abuse your power for me. I'll get them myself."

In Transfiguration, after lunch, Harry sat a good distance from the boys as McGonagall divided the class into pairs. But since the third-year Slytherins were eleven in total, there was always a group of three somewhere. "...Potter, Bulstrode, and Zabini."

"What?" Zabini shook his head. "No way am I working with a traitor, ma'am."

McGonagall remained impassive. "Six points from Slytherin, Zabini, and I'll be expecting a ten-inch essay, by tomorrow, on the importance of respect."

"Potter should be getting that punishment, ma'am," said Malfoy, while Nott, Crabbe and Goyle also agreed.

"I'll be expecting that essay from each of you five tomorrow then," said McGonagall. "And the next person to talk out of line, or with regards to who betrayed who, will receive detention as well."

Today just kept getting better and better for Harry, and it soon ended on Defence Against the Dark Arts (after a free period), where Lupin wasn't too pleased with Harry's need to relocate either. "You know," he said, standing near his blackboard in front of the class, "we had a more 'hands-on' approach for dealing with hateful students in my time."

"Oh, really?" Nott asked, unimpressed.

"I would suggest that you gentlemen apologise and make peace with Harry over there; he's your fellow housemate, for goodness sake. Bad things tend to happen to bad students..."

Malfoy sneered. "Is that a threat, Professor? Not very professional, I'd say."

"It's the truth." Lupin gave him a stern look and proceeded with today's lesson. "So, it seems we need to start a rather, er, interesting section of our curriculum today. Page three hundred and ninety-four, please. Some real nasty creatures these are, so cross your fingers and hope that you, children, never ever come across a werewolf in your little lives, _ever_."

"What child would be dumb enough to get attacked by a werewolf?" asked Zabini, who looked positively baffled.

"You'd be surprised what goes on out there," said Lupin. "Right, who can tell me the main differences between a random wolf in the wild... and one of these monstrosities of the moonlight? Ah, I knew that hand was going to go up!"

Harry had always been keen on studying ahead in this class. "The werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways: for example, its snout tends to be a bit flatter, its tail is rather tufted, its pupils have a certain shape, and its body tends to be bulkier. But those aren't very noticeable, really, especially not by the person getting attacked out there. Oh, and werewolves tend to focus more on human prey, rather than hunting animals."

"Correct, Harry! Take six points to Slytherin for a decent enough answer right there." Lupin smiled. "Werewolves definitely prefer humans. I mean, you could probably give one a bunch of animal buddies and nothing will happen at all. But put a person, particularly the nosy sort, in its sights and it might not be such a happy time."

All in all, Harry and his housemates found their first lecture on werewolves quite informative... especially when compared to the good-for-nothing professors they'd had in this class before.

"Harry... a word, please," said Lupin, after most of the class had left.

"Sir?"

"I've got a nasty feeling about those former roommates of yours." Lupin stashed a bunch of second-year essays into his bag, while speaking. "And if I must be honest, that's not the first time I've seen Slytherins act like that, no offence to you—of course."

"You think they're gonna get at me, or something?"

"Ambush, stalk, try to get into trouble, look for ways to humiliate you... I've seen it all. And the staff, prefects, and Head students can only do so much to keep watch for whatever goes on in this massive school." Lupin drew his wand and paused to consider something. "Look, as much as I'm supposed to remain impartial and all that... sometimes, things get out of hand far too quickly. Lucius Malfoy and the rest are definitely seething after word got out that you'd helped Hagrid at his trial, which I'm obviously proud of, of course."

Harry smiled. "Thank you, Professor."

"You'll thank me when I'm done teaching you a spell that'll come in handy during an attack. However, I must urge that you _never_ use it to start one... is that clear?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Now the spell I'm going to teach you was rather notorious during my time, which is why I'd rather you not go spreading it around on purpose..."

And so, with just a few minutes left to spare until dinner, Harry eventually set off with a new spell in his arsenal: _Levicorpus_ (and its counterspell, of course). He'd been thoroughly warned against using it on the offensive; and for that reason, Harry made sure to keep it on his mental list of self-defence skills. He didn't need it yet, though, as the next two weeks were pretty much routine for Harry. It was basically a schedule of keeping up with his classes, extracurricular activities, and also staying alert for any form of aggression. Harry wasn't about to let himself be caught off guard by Malfoy or whoever the hell supported that git.

* * *

March brought little more than added stress, homework, and excitement for the students of Hogwarts. Not only were many of them discussing their plans for the upcoming Easter holidays, but so were hundreds of students debating the Quidditch log. They just couldn't decide upon a clear enough winner yet, despite the countless theories and speculations, because there were still two key matches left to be played.

One of them was Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, which took place under clear skies on the 19th of March. The stakes were high and Oliver Wood was on his last nerve, and this clearly showed as Hufflepuff took the starting initiative. Canary-yellow robes could be seen all over the place while their scarlet foes were hounded by their own captain, from his Keeper position at the hoops.

"Goddamn it, Oliver, CALM DOWN!" yelled Jordan over the magical megaphone, and even McGonagall was inclined to agree. "Team Gryffindor's way too compact with their Chasers now; it's like Oliver's absolutely desperate to get that Quaffle upfront as fast as possible. Hufflepuff, on the other hand, are taking full advantage of this big cluster for their Bludgers now. Fred and George doing their usual best to shield our girls in the meantime..."

Wood's biggest concern was clearly both Ravenclaw and Slytherin on the log, because he knew that simply beating the former's six hundred and seventy points might not be enough; there was a good chance that Slytherin would do even better. Therefore, Team Gryffindor needed to end above seven hundred on the standings—which was a decent challenge coming from their starting total of three hundred and ninety here today. Then there was the fact that Wood wasn't too concerned about Hufflepuff scoring, because they needed over three hundred points in both of their final matches.

"...Oliver needs to get his priorities checked today," said Jordan. "He's got both our Beaters marking the opposing Chasers only, while Ginny's left wide open against those Hufflepuff Beaters... Come on, man, you're gonna need to be like, what, sixteen goals up before getting the Snitch? There's a loooong way still to go, and we need to make sure Ginny's still flying by then!"

A fair portion of the match had now passed, with Gryffindor on six goals to Hufflepuff's eight.

"I think he's lost the plot a bit there, folks." Jordan gave a slight laugh of disbelief. "Oliver's making full use—too much, actually—of the Keeper's ability to join in on the Chasers' attacks. Er, Captain, did you forget that we're not flying the best of brooms to do this? THERE, YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN?"

Once again, Wood had made himself into a fourth Chaser (which allowed greater mobility and passing opportunities against the trio of Hufflepuff Chasers) and assisted in getting Alicia Spinnet in for a decent goal. However, Team Hufflepuff and their Cleansweep Sevens were just too much for Gryffindor's older models, and the latter were then narrowly beaten as Heidi Macavoy scored for Hufflepuff.

"...that brings our match to seventy-ninety in favour of Hufflepuff, and now we'll have to wait until Oliver gets back to his posts to restart the game. C'mon, Captain, the conceding Keeper starts the next play after a goal. Keep it calm and composed out there, Oliver, we can do this!"

The score eventually reached one hundred and thirty to one hundred and twenty, in favour of Gryffindor, and Wood showed no signs of letting up his aggressive attacks. And while this tactic became relatively effective, it also left Gryffindor far too vulnerable on the counterattacks and restarts. Over and over did both teams make their attempts at goal, with the match eventually reaching one hundred and seventy to one hundred and forty, in favour of Gryffindor.

"Looks like both Seekers have finally decided to make their real moves on the Golden Snitch! They've spotted it for the third time in this match... here we go!" Jordan, as well as over a hundred Gryffindor supporters, cheered their little Seeker on throughout her chase; the Hufflepuff supporters doing the same for Cedric Diggory.

* * *

Hundreds of students made their way up the wet lawns after the match, with nearly a third of the group (mainly consisting of some Ravenclaws and Slytherins) throwing jeers and insults at today's runner-up.

"Look, everyone!" said some Ravenclaw boy in the huge crowd. "There's the girl who clearly should NOT have tried playing against such a tall opponent."

Some of the Gryffindors stomped away while the others hung back to defend Ginny, particularly the rest of her team. "Don't listen to those prats," said one of the twins, who tried to console his crestfallen sister in the crowd. "Pretty-boy Diggory just got lucky today, that's all."

Over a dozen Hufflepuffs nearby took great offence at this; and they, too, started jeering and poking fun at Ginny out here.

"What was Wood thinking, playing a little girl against our big Cedric?"

"Really, you'd think that that crazy excuse of a captain would've known better. What a waste of his final match at school, eh?"

"Not to mention that being the closest Gryffindor's been to winning the Quidditch Cup, shame."

One of the worst insults soon came from Draco Malfoy, who raised his voice once the mass of students had reached the Entrance Courtyard. "Maybe they ought to sell the Weasleys' pigsty of a house and buy better second-hand brooms, huh?"

Harry immediately confronted him right in the middle of the huge crowd. "You just don't quit, do you? Why not shut it and instead discuss how your dad got shut down at that hearing?"

Malfoy fumed at being humiliated in front of all these students. "Don't you ever talk about my father—Oh, wait, at least I still have one."

Harry gave a mirthless laugh at the 'retort' he'd obviously been expecting. "Like father like son; no wonder Lucius couldn't convince the Committee to get at Hagrid. So tell me, how many Galleons did he try putting into their pockets, huh?"

There were far too many students around for Malfoy to try an outright attack against Harry, and so he resorted to making some allies instead. "You see, Slytherins? Look how Potter runs to defend his Gryffindor pal but stabs his own housemate in the back—"

"You're the idiot who stabbed himself in the back," said a prefect from Ravenclaw, who quickly broke up the argument. "Now get inside and stop blocking the doors with this crap. One more word against Ginny Weasley, and I'll put the Head Boy himself after you, Malfoy."

But the damage had already been done over time; Malfoy's insistence on 'house loyalty' had won him just over a third of Slytherin's support—which meant forty or so students were against Harry these days. And this ever-increasing rift showed itself quite nastily in the final week before the Easter holidays.

"What's he doing here?" asked Graham Montague, as Harry stepped into the Slytherin locker room on the last Saturday before Easter. "This is no place for banned people who suck up to Mudbloods, oafs, Gryffindors, or the like, Potter."

"You tell him, Montague," said Malfoy, smirking while sitting on his bench at a wall. "Why do you even bother practising anyway, Potter? You'll never make any position again on this team."

"When I'm in charge next year..." Montague stood up and wiped the blackboard clean. "We'll make Harper our reserve Seeker and kick Potter off the team. And as for our Chaser group, that'll be Warrington, myself, and whoever else is good enough."

Harry needn't have said anything, for the others were already on the counterattack.

"Who said you'll be captain next year?" Flint stood up and returned his tactics to the board. "And don't touch my board, arsehole."

"You always had a soft spot for this traitorous half-blood!" said Montague, who had seemingly had enough. "I'm done pretending to be civil to Potter! Look at all the crap he's done against our founder!"

Malfoy nodded in agreement. "Potter ruined Salazar Slytherin's best chance at fulfilling Hogwarts' pure future."

Miles Bletchley, the broad-shouldered Keeper, looked from Malfoy to Montague. "Will you both just shut up and get on with today's practice?"

"Well said, man." Flint did his complicated fist-pump thing with Bletchley. "Warrington should be here any minute now, I think..."

Indeed, Cassius Warrington eventually showed up and found himself having to choose sides. "What rubbish? I'm with Flint and Potter, obviously."

"Let's go," said Malfoy to Montague. "Oh, and you rejects will have to return those brooms. I'm sure Potter will buy you all Firebolts or whatever."

"Stick 'em up your arse then." Derrick tossed the Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones back to Malfoy.

"Who cares about Quidditch anyway?" Malfoy asked, as he looked at Montague on the way out the locker room. "I'd much rather focus on my work and beat Potter's Mudblood pig instead."

Soon, the locker room was left with Bletchley, Bole, Derrick, Flint, Harry, and Warrington; all of whom were rightfully upset over the next ten minutes. "The number of jerks in this house is growing by the day, man," said Bletchley. "I guess it just goes to show who's desperate enough to suck up to Malfoy and, by extension, his overrated father."

Warrington stood up and walked towards the doorway. "We still got our old Comet Two Sixties lying around the broomshed, right? And Potter can get his Firebolt returned already."

Harry sighed. "Nah, Snape won't give it back as long as I'm banned from matches."

"But what's that got to do with practice?" asked Bole, who looked as if he was about to toss a bench or something. The group then exited the locker room, went down the tunnel, and crossed the field to enter the broomshed.

"Damn," said Flint, as he picked up his well-worn old broom. "These've been lying here since the start of last year. Frost and whatever else did a good number on them, I'd say."

Harry wasn't too bothered by all of this. "How about I just get you guys Nimbus Two Thousands instead? Just imagine the look on Malfoy's face when we play even better on those brooms than his daddy's ones."

"Yeah." Flint nodded. "I suppose those will be all right, if a bit of a downgrade."

Once they'd left the broomshed, Harry turned to give some advice to Flint. "Malfoy's like a venomous snake, Captain, and he'll be spreading his crap all over our house. Look, I think it's time you dropped the nonsense and put some girls on the team; we could use more allies."

Flint whistled. "Girls? On our team? I hope you're right about this..."

As the day moved on, Harry kept himself out of the common room and preferred to spend the remainder of his afternoon at the stone circle, while reading his map. Most of the school were indoors now, except for a dozen or so students hanging about the grounds... or wherever. And of this lot, Harry saw a few names such as _Kenneth Towler_,_ Morag MacDougal_,_ Hermione Granger_ (which was quite surprising, to be honest)_,_ _Patricia Stimpson_,_ Victoria Frobisher_,_ Geoffrey Hooper,_ etc. He smiled as Hagrid seemingly had a visitor; someone by the name of Peter Pettigrew.

Then, to Harry's utter bemusement, he saw Crookshanks rushing across the grounds towards him. "Lost your owner?" Harry asked. "Yeah, she's just far too busy for us these days, eh?"

Crookshanks meowed and bit into the bottom of Harry's trousers, as if wanting to lead him somewhere. Well, there wasn't much harm in following's his best pal's cat, and so Harry ended up being led a fair distance across the grounds, towards the Whomping Willow.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa... What the hell? You trying to get me _killed_?"

Things got even weirder as Hermione's cat ran right up to the tree and prodded something near the base of its trunk. Then, amazingly, Crookshanks proceeded to climb into a gap between the roots .

"What?" Harry simply gawked and followed the cat into a tunnel of sorts, beneath the Whomping Willow. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"Meow."

Harry didn't know what the heck was happening now; everything was just too damn weird at this point. He kept going further and further ahead, and he lit his wand to advance through the darkness of this long, winding tunnel. "This is the last time I'm following you anywhere, man. The Whomping Willow... seriously?"

"Meow!"

Harry checked the Marauder's Map and saw, to his disappointment, that this tunnel went off its edge... probably to Hogsmeade. "Now, really! How am I supposed to sneak around that village without my Invisibility Cloak, huh? If you wanted catnip or whatever, then you could've at least scratched at Hermione's lovely ankles until she got the hint." He stashed the map in the inner pocket of his robes and carried on walking. _Crazy arse cat._

The tunnel began to rise and eventually twist until Harry stepped out into a disorderly, dusty room. It looked like the inside of a house long since abandoned, if anyone had even lived here in the first place.

"I'll be damned," said a very familiar voice from a hallway on Harry's right. "The last Slytherin who got into that tunnel was—and remains—one of the biggest gits I've ever met in my life; but this one, well, he's the best damn one."

Harry saw, to his absolute shock, a man who had filthy, matted hair which hung to his elbows; a man who almost looked like a corpse standing in the dimly lit hallway. Had Crookshanks just led him to his death? This was a scene straight out of a horror film, in Harry's opinion.

"S-SSIRIUS BLACK? What the _hell_, Crookshanks?"

"You trying Parseltongue with my name there, Harry, or are you just scared?" Black took two slow, cautious steps forward in the hallway. "I'm unarmed, I've got no knife, and if I really wanted to kill you, well, then your piece of trash Head of House would've received word of a tampered Firebolt already. I bought it for you, you see; consider it a birthday gift for all those years I haven't been in your life... as your godfather."

Harry kept his wand raised and pointed at Black, and it hardly mattered that Crookshanks scratched at his shoes now. "You've got ten seconds to prove that you're not after me, Black."

Black shrugged. "I can do it in three sentences: _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_. Look wherever you can on that map. Find Peter Pettigrew."

Harry wondered how Black even knew that he had the map in the first place, considering that only the twins and Ginny knew about it. "What map?"

Black smiled. "I've had Crookshanks follow you around for quite a while this year; clever cat, that... although it took a hell of a long time to get acquainted. He's very untrusting towards certain types, you see, especially when he senses _deception_. Tell me, how many times have you come across a rather large dog this year? I mean, really, really large... maybe like a bear's size or something?"

"That's the stupid Grim thing from Divination." Harry scoffed. "I don't feel much dead yet. But you will be, if I don't get some real answers soon. How do you know that I've got the map, Padfoot?"

Black blinked, clearly caught off guard. "You... you know about that? But then... how do you not know about Peter?"

"The only Peter I know is from a Muggle fairy tale; one of my favourite ones, mind you." Harry wasn't about to let himself be tricked into lowering his guard; the git, Snape, had at least tried to get that into the Slytherins' heads over the years. "So, explain—everything—right—now!"

And so, Black retold as much as was possible in here. He told of Harry's father, his closest friends, their nicknames, a few school activities, life thereafter, and—most importantly—of Wormtail's fateful betrayal. "... but you know what? There's a good reason why I've heard, from Crookshanks, that you never truly suspected me of this whole thing. There's a good reason why you sometimes feel the way you do, if that makes sense."

Harry nodded; hardly noticing the tearful blurriness of his vision. His mind had almost shut down at this moment. Everything made so much damn sense now, compared to the craziness of this year. After all, he'd always—somehow—believed that Sirius Black wasn't truly guilty, and there was absolutely no denying it now. But... to think that someone had suffered for so long, and from such a terrible betrayal too? Yes, Harry also reckoned that his father had been nudging him ever so slightly in the right direction over this year; no matter how miniscule those feelings of doubt might've been.

Sirius got onto his knees, and then he placed his hands on the sides of Harry's elbows. "It's because you truly are the son of James, and he's alive within you... in here." He placed his hand on Harry's chest; above his heart. "Which is a very good thing, of course, especially considering who your Head of House happens to be."

"He's a git."

"I know, and I tried to warn everyone with that message on his door." Sirius stood up and punched the nearest wall. "How dare he ban you, James' son, from taking your rightful place out on the pitch? How dare he let some piece of trash _Malfoy_ steal your spotlight? Ha! Well, I hope Lucius threw a good enough fit while getting his son's copycat broom fixed—"

Harry widened his eyes. "You gashed that Firebolt?"

"Two minutes were all I needed to sneak in and scratch the living hell out of that copycat junk, yes."

"Brilliant!" Harry felt a surge of vindictive satisfaction; his godfather had vandalised _Draco Malfoy's_ property in Harry's defence.

"Oh no, that's nothing compared to you this year, Harry. You brilliant example to Snivellus' house." Sirius smiled. "Although, I'm still trying to figure out how you got your hands on that map and never came after me..."

And now it was Harry's turn to give as thorough an explanation of his year as he could manage, which took up a fair bit of time in here. "So, Sirius, _godfather_, what happens now?"

"Revenge, Harry, but there's a very specific way that I want this done..." Sirius took Harry's wand, conjured them some pillows to sit on, and proceeded to explain his grand plan of retribution. "... so, yes, after hearing about your clever little schemes here and there, well, I thought perhaps a change of tactics was needed. Brute force wasn't getting me anywhere, although Crookshanks stealing that slip of passwords got me close enough to Peter's room. Close... but no cigar that time."

Harry stared blankly while considering everything that Sirius had just said. "Wait, let me get this straight... You want me to explain the situation to Dumbledore—"

"That's right."

"—and get him to Transfigure Hermione and I into a teenaged Lily and James—"

"Correct, yes."

"—and give Wormtail the fright of his life, when capturing him at Hagrid's home?"

"That's what I'm talking about." Sirius patted Harry on the knee. "Crookshanks and I will distract Hagrid long enough for you to go in and get that son of a swine traitor. But, don't forget to get yourself a jar with an Unbreakable Charm to trap that bitch... just in case he tries to revert inside. Remember, I want Wormtail to _really_ think that it's Lily and James who've—somehow—come after him, so don't knock him out too much. I want you to screw with his mind just as the Dementors made me suffer for twelve years in Azkaban! Think about the life that Peter stole from you, little James; think of what could've been..."

Harry stood up and felt a pang of hatred within his heart. "After all that you've been through, Sirius..."

"You won't fail me, I know." Sirius stood up, took a few Cleaning Charms from Harry, and then he gave his godson a long, loving hug. "You do all that, and then everything will be as it should be."


	17. Wormtail

"We're gonna get this done, okay? If you do your part well, then I'll give you some decent sleeping time on my lap—within reason, of course."

"Meow!"

Coming out from under the Whomping Willow, in broad daylight, was risky business now—but Harry was always prepared. It was sheer luck that his earlier trip had gone completely unnoticed by any potential witnesses in the castle, but Harry wasn't banking on luck once more.

"_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."_ He knelt down, in the tunnel, and placed the Marauder's Map on the floor just as Crookshanks came trotting towards him. "Now don't ruin this map, OK? We're gonna need it to catch our rat-man."

Crookshanks sat down and watched as Harry found Hermione's dot on the map, after which Harry then assessed all areas overlooking the Whomping Willow.

"Sorry, Shanks, but we're gonna have to wait a bit," he said, sitting near the tunnel's exit. "See this part of the map? That's the boys' dormitories of Gryffindor, and it looks like some of the third, fourth, and sixth-year guys are hanging out in their rooms. Now look a bit closer and you'll see that quite a few of them are near their windows... which means they'd totally see us coming out here."

There was nothing more they could do but wait until the coast was clear, and Harry decided to share some Chocolate Frogs with Crookshanks in the meantime. Then, half an hour later, they finally climbed out the tunnel and hurried up the sloping lawns under the setting sun.

"I'd better get to dinner before everyone starts losing their minds," said Harry, as Crookshanks perched himself on a ledge in the Entrance Hall. "Yeah, you stay here and catch some insects or something in the meantime." He then entered the Great Hall and took his usual spot at the Slytherin table.

"Someone's hungry," said Pansy, seated beside Harry as the latter devoured his meal. "Bet you miss my mom's cooking, eh?"

Harry smiled, nodded, and only finished his meal once Hermione had done so too; far across the Great Hall. "Listen, can one of you lovely ladies do me a _huge_ favour?" All five of them looked quizzically at Harry, who lowered his voice. "I need to borrow one of your wands, just for this evening."

"What?" Pansy looked at Harry as if she wasn't sure what was happening. "Why? Aren't you coming back to the common room after dinner? The hell do you need a second wand for?"

"This is the absolute most critical thing I'll ever do this year. Please! I promise I'll give it back as soon as possible!"

It was Daphne who took pity on Harry, and she smuggled her wand under the table. "Here, walnut and dragon heartstring, in case you need a reminder."

Harry stashed the wand into his inner robes pocket and smiled. "I'd love to stay and chat, but there's something urgent I need to discuss. You'll find out later tonight." He quickly left his seat and hurried to catch up with Hermione in the Entrance Hall. "Wait!"

Hermione turned around just before reaching the marble staircase, and then she saw Crookshanks leaping down from the ledge to walk beside Harry. "Oh, are you two hanging out together? And to think that it wasn't too long ago that poor Crookshanks was stuck, unwanted, in the Menagerie..."

"Meow."

"Yeah, what he said." Harry led Hermione into an empty chamber off the Entrance Hall. "Listen, I've got something important to discuss... like, really, absolutely essential."

"Make it quick; I still need to finalise my holiday schedule for tomorrow onwards. Over a thousand pages, in total, to read over Easter..."

Harry kept his voice low while explaining as much as he could about Sirius' innocence, Wormtail, and the former's request. And the more Harry spoke, the more Hermione's mouth fell open until she covered it and gasped.

"W-What? Harry, are you... are you sure this is all true? It can't be true..."

"Every damn word of it; right down to how we're getting that rat traitor."

Brown eyes stared into green as Hermione didn't know how to react. "I think... I think it all makes sense, now that I think about it." She sat against a wall and scratched Crookshanks behind the ears while speaking. "I've always thought it was strange how 'Scabbers' had been with the Weasleys for so long, but Ron wouldn't hear a word of it. Imagine if you were in our house and were right there by Pettigrew every night... He could've hurt or kidnapped you for You-Know-Who!"

"Say his name, Hermione; you've done it before." Harry moved to sit beside his astonished friend. "Look, forget the 'what ifs' and whatevers. We need to get the jump on this Animagus before he decides to run away from Hogwarts. Because, if he does that..." Harry withdrew the Marauder's Map and revealed its contents, which brought an even bigger shock to Hermione. "See? He's right in Hagrid's house, the bastard! I can't risk him leaving the boundaries of this map."

It took a fair bit of explanation to get Hermione to understand, and she immediately interrogated Harry. "Fred and George had it? But, why didn't they notice Voldemort or Pettigrew then? One was on a teacher, and the other was right on top of Ron so many times..."

"Pretty simple; Voldemort likely showed up as 'Tom Riddle' on the map, and barely anyone can make that connection." Harry paused for a moment's thought. "I doubt the twins cared too much to analyse Quirrell and Riddle being on each other all the time anyway. And as for Pettigrew, well, they wouldn't bother to watch Ronald or the common room all the time. Plus, barely anyone around here even knew who Pettigrew is. And then you have to consider that Fred and George said they got used to operating without needing the map all the time as well."

"What about Ginny last year, and Sirius Black this year?"

"What about them?" Harry was growing slightly impatient now. "Ginny was only taken near the end of the year, and the Chamber doesn't show up on the map. Look, are we gonna scrutinise Fred and George all night or catch ourselves a traitor instead?"

Hermione stood up and turned to look at Harry. "Wait, are we honestly going to go ahead with Sirius Black's plan? What if Professor Dumbledore doesn't believe us? And, well, how exactly am I supposed to act like your... your late mother? This is insane, not to mention unbelievably weird."

"Dumbledore will believe us; trust me." Harry blushed a slight bit as he then added: "From what I've heard, my mother was kind, beautiful, and very smart too. So... just like act yourself, I suppose."

She smiled. "Thank you, Harry."

"Any more questions? No? Then let's meet up outside Dumbledore's office in a few minutes."

They went their separate ways, with Hermione carrying Crookshanks up to the second floor, and Harry heading to his dormitory to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak. Then, as he stood at his trunk, he checked the map to see Dumbledore exiting the Great Hall, no doubt headed back to his office—as usual. Hopefully, Hermione would've given her explanation to Dumbledore by the time Harry rejoined her... which was precisely what happened.

"Quickly, inside," said Dumbledore, ushering the pair (and Crookshanks) up to his office. "What Miss Granger has just told me is nothing less than utterly extraordinary..."

"Why is there a mangy cat inside this office?" Phineas Nigellus asked, curling his lip in disgust.

"This 'mangy cat' is the reason someone's about to be freed," said Harry, much to Phineas' confusion.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore brought out his Pensieve (while Harry explained it to Hermione) and began searching through his collection of memories... and then, to both students' surprise, Dumbledore vanished into his stone basin.

"What exactly is going on here?" asked one of the old Headmasters on the walls.

"My thoughts exactly," said Phineas. "But, I suppose these two teenagers like keeping their gossip and secrets. It makes them feel superior to others, especially the Mudbl—"

_"Muggle-born,"_ said Harry, glaring up at Phineas, "and she's about to help me spook a traitor. Or would you rather an innocent man be tossed back into jail, huh? Hermione, please explain."

"Professor Dumbledore can do that later," said Hermione, with an indignant expression after Phineas' blood-insult. She now occupied herself by walking around and marvelling at Dumbledore's office. "This is quite different from any other office I've been in; not even Professor Sinistra's one is this scenic. I wonder what all these silver instruments are for?"

"Children should not be questioning their Headmaster's possessions," said Phineas. "What happened to good old 'respect' these days? Typical Mudblood."

Finally, Dumbledore emerged from his Pensieve and drew his wand. "Forgive my sudden disappearance; it has been quite some time since I'd last seen your parents as students, Harry. Now, do hold still please..." Like an artist painting a canvas, Dumbledore began his masterful application of human Transfiguration here. It took a fair bit of time, but the results were nothing less than completely accurate.

"What is this trickery?" asked one of the old Headmistresses. "I don't understand what's going on here, Headmaster."

Dumbledore gave Harry and Hermione (who resembled fifth-year Lily and James) a grave look while speaking. "I must ask that you exercise extreme caution with Peter Pettigrew, especially since we cannot be sure whether he's currently in possession of a wand or not. Remember the story of the twelve Muggles? I doubt Pettigrew would hesitate to use such force again. Oh, and allow me to adjust your uniform, Harry."

"This has got to be the single-most strangest thing I've ever done... _ever_," said Hermione, smiling nervously. "Are you absolutely sure about this, Harry? I mean, there's no telling what Wormtail might do. What if we scared him into a panic? A very violent, swift panic?"

"According to the map, Wormtail's likely hiding in a corner of Hagrid's house somewhere... maybe in a cupboard or something?" Harry rubbed his chin (which felt almost the same as his own). "He'd be in rat form, obviously, so that gives us the initiative. Grab him, dump him in a jar, and then we screw with his mind. I'll tell a few stories I heard, from Sirius, along the way."

"Wait, did you say _Sirius_? As in... my descendant Sirius?" asked Phineas. "Can someone give us old folks up here some idea of what the hell's going on!?"

The door suddenly opened as a bat-like figure walked in. "Dumbledore! I cannot seem to find Potter anywhere since dinner! If that imbecile's sneaking about just before the holida—"

"Ah, good evening, Severus," said Dumbledore, smiling. "As it just so happens, I'm sending these two on a critical mission tonight."

Snape looked from Harry to Hermione, and then he stumbled backwards into the chair behind him. "W-What is the meaning of... _this_? The dead cannot be brought back to... to life! Dumbledore..."

"I can explain, Professor—" Hermione was interrupted by a terrified Snape pointing at her.

"E-EXPLAIN?" Then he set his cold, black eyes on Harry. "HOW DID YOU COME BACK? HOOOOW?"

All the shouting caused Crookshanks to hiss and dart under the Headmaster's desk.

"How's it going, Severus?" Harry asked, enjoying this moment all too well. "I'm too cool for the afterlife, you see, so I got sent back."

"That's enough, Harry," said Dumbledore, to which Snape seemed even more unsettled.

"POTTER?" He stood up and drew his wand. "Everyone knows you're just like your father, and now you went and took that _literally_?" Snape, still hyperventilating, turned his horrified gaze to Hermione. "And who the hell is... is _this_?"

"My future wife, duh." Harry smirked at the 'Oh, really?' expression on Hermione's face. "Technically, considering who we are, it's true."

"Professor Snape," said Dumbledore, as if addressing a misbehaving child, "if you'd allow me to explain, then I shall do just that."

"Rather don't," said a grinning Phineas. "This is proving to be one of the liveliest evenings we've had in here for quite some time. Hey, Severus Snape, your old foe is back from the grave—"

"Be quiet, moron!" yelled one of the other portraits.

Ignoring the bickering amongst his predecessors, Dumbledore proceeded to give a very concise explanation to Snape—who went from shocked to appalled.

"What nonsense?" Snape glared at Harry, and then he eyed Hermione for an unusually long time before finally speaking. "And you just believed all of this Confundus-worthy rubbish from Potter's mouth, Dumbledore? He came across Black, _again_, and did absolutely nothing against him! The Minister for Magic ought to be contacted immediately!"

Dumbledore ignored Snape and proceeded to initiate a firecall, via his fireplace, with someone in the school. Meanwhile, Snape remained seething at Harry.

"I'll see you banned from Quidditch until the end of your seventh year for this stunt, _Potter_. First you learn how to protect your mind, and now you find it amusing to mess with others'... mine?"

"Um, Professor." Hermione shook her head. "You're the one who barged into our conversation and became unreasonably aggressive, no offence."

Snape waved his wand and immediately restored Hermione's own appearance, before addressing her. "This isn't a classroom where you might believe yourself clever enough to speak without permission. So, for once in your life, Granger, hold—your—tongue! You know nothing of reason when it comes to Potter and his blessed father."

"Let go of me!" said Harry, as Snape attempted to drag him out the door. "This is nothing but a waste of time!"

"You, Potter, are clearly in need of medical attention—more so than usual—after spewing that pathetically moronic excuse of a story. Black has so adeptly Confunded you that nobody, especially not yourself, can discern the signs in here." He yanked Harry by the arm. "I, on the other hand, am able to see through this false story. Does Black intend on having you lead Granger out into the wild? A Muggle-born murder, in addition to getting Mister Potter himself? It's Godric's Hollow all over again here... and for goodness sake, get rid of this filthy appearance!"

Harry was too slow on the draw to block Snape's spell, which removed Dumbledore's Transfiguration. "Are you mad, _sir_? Now it'll take another few minutes to put this back on—"

"Enough!" Snape placed a Silencing Charm on both students. "I'm sure the Headmaster won't mind if we pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey quickly. Potter, Granger, come with me."

Seeing as Hermione refused to move an inch, Snape grabbed her by the arm and tried to get her out the door. Then, Crookshanks came sprinting out from under the desk... only to end up being blasted aside by a livid Snape.

"Of course that hideous cat would want you both to go ahead; it's in leagues with Black, as I've just heard!" Snape looked just about done with hands-on handling, and he now resorted to aiming his wand at the students. "You've both been misled tonight, and I'm not waiting for Black to slip away before I hand him over to the Minister himself! _Incarc_—"

_Levicorpus!_

"What have I missed?" asked Dumbledore, after he'd pulled his head out the fire. Then the flames burned a bright green as Professor Lupin arrived on scene.

"What the—Oh no, Harry..." Lupin gaped at the scene of a shocked Snape hanging upside-down in the air; his robes falling over his head to reveal the somewhat formal trousers he wore underneath.

With a slight wave of his wand, Dumbledore removed the Silencing Charms from Harry and Hermione.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?" asked Hermione, horrified. "PUT HIM DOWN!"

"Certainly," said Harry, and he jerked his wand upwards. _"Liberacorpus!"_

"At least you remembered how to reverse it," said Lupin.

Snape fell to the ground and disentangled himself from his robes. His expression was simply murderous as he glared at Lupin.

"This has clearly been one tremendous misunderstanding," said Dumbledore, shaking his head. "One sad, unfortunate, and terrible mix of circumstances both past and present."

But, Snape wasn't listening. "I bet you thought that was real funny, didn't you, _Lupin_? A real laugh from the old friend of James Potter—"

"Severus," said Lupin, although Snape continued.

"If I'd known that you taught _that_ spell to _this_ delinquent to use on ME, then I might've reconsidered tonight's batch of Wolfsbane Potion for you, werewolf. Full moon's tomorrow, remember?"

"Severus!" said Dumbledore, although he quickly assessed the situation. "Miss Granger, allow me to explain—"

"It's OK, Professor, I know." Hermione sighed. "I already knew all about Professor Lupin's condition, ever since Professor Snape gave us those essays."

Lupin lowered his gaze. "It was only a matter of time until someone ratted me out, I'm afraid. Well done, Severus."

"It was part of the curriculum, idiot," said Snape, who remained fuming, "unlike something else..."

"I only taught Harry how to use that spell; nothing more." Lupin glared at Harry. "Have I not warned you against using _Levicorpus_ on the offensive? That was supposed to be strictly for emergencies only, such as the possibility of you being ambushed by Malfoy and friends! Why, out of all the damned people in this school, did you go and use it on Severus Snape!?"

"An interesting question, Potter," said Snape, who glanced from Harry to Lupin and back. "You'd better talk fast..."

"_Levicorpus _and its counterspell are the only ones I know how to do non-verbally. And that was an emergency anyway."

"No, it wasn't," said Lupin.

"We've wasted enough time," said Dumbledore. "Harry, such a reaction was unnecessary against a professor, especially considering that I was right here in this office. And as for you, Severus,"—Dumbledore revived the incapacitated Crookshanks—"_that_ was rather uncalled for."

Crookshanks got to his feet and gave a loud, furious hiss at Snape. Then he finally settled down, and purred, once Hermione grabbed him into her arms for a hug. "Oh, you poor animal! Are you OK, Crookshanks?"

Harry kept his eyes on Snape. "No wonder Sirius carved that message into your door—"

"Harry, enough." Dumbledore quickly restored his earlier bit of Transfiguration, much to Lupin (and, to a lesser extent, Snape's) astonishment. "Shall we now proceed with tonight's original plan? Harry, Miss Granger, the two of you will head down to Hagrid's and retrieve Peter Pettigrew."

"If there even _is_ a 'Peter Pettigrew' still alive—"

"Severus, enough." Dumbledore conjured a glass jar and charmed it to be unbreakable. "Here, do what needs to be done, quickly. The rest of us will be on our way soon, should you be in need of assistance."

Harry took the jar and threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and Hermione. Then they exited the office and made their way down the gargoyle corridor. "You're so pretty, future wife."

"Gross! I'm your mother!"

"And I'm your future husband." Harry eventually came to a halt in the Entrance Hall, with Hermione nearly bumping into him. "Wait a minute. If we've got permission from Professor Dumbledore to do this... why are we even bothering with my Invisibility Cloak?"

"You're the one who brought it with you in the first place; don't ask me."

There really was no point in wearing the Invisibility Cloak now, and Harry therefore stashed it into his inner robes pocket and exited the castle. Down the sloping lawns he went, with Hermione hurrying alongside him, until meeting up with a bear-sized black dog on the grounds. "That's him!"

"You mean... Sirius Black?" asked Hermione, gasping.

"Yeah, it's clearly—Oh shit, NO!" Harry (and Hermione) gasped in horror as Sirius reverted to his human form. "Turn back before the Dementors sense you! Goddamnit, Godfather!"

"James..." Sirius was caught between shock and tears. "I haven't seen you since the good old days—"

"Hey!" said Harry, now gesturing to his wand. "Look here! It's me, Harry! I'M NOT JAMES!"

Sirius stopped in his tracks while reaching out for a hug, and then he quickly reverted back to his Animagus form. Could the damage have been done already? Nobody could tell... yet. All that mattered was getting down to Hagrid's as quickly as possible, which was exactly what the group of three did as they ran down the slopes. Seconds later, they became four as Crookshanks sprinted from the castle and leaped onto the dog's back.

"How cute!" said Hermione, laughing. "Clever Crookshanks! Getting yourself a free ride like that."

Harry snorted. "The only person who's getting a free ride tonight is Wormtail; a free ride to the Dementors' Kiss, that is." Once they reached the garden outside Hagrid's cabin, Harry took cover as Crookshanks and the dog began scratching at the door until it opened.

"Blimey, what's a pair o' stray animals like yeh two doin' at my doorstep? Hold on, yeh'd be Hermione's cat, right? And as fer this one..."

"Oh shit," whispered Harry to Hermione. "I forgot how blunt Hagrid can be; he might accidentally alert our foe if we don't hurry up!"

"Yeh be from the forest or summat? Dogs are no' allowed as pets, especially no' big, black ones—"

BOOM!

The back door went flying from a spell, and then a figure dashed out while holding an umbrella.

"GALLOPIN' GARGOYLES!" Hagrid, in his rush to catch the fleeing Fang, was knocked unconscious as Pettigrew blasted the whole cabin towards him—in addition to sending a Blasting Curse as well.

"Hagrid!" screamed Hermione.

"Long time no see, Peter!" said Harry, as he stepped out from the garden to face Pettigrew.

The short, plump man that was Peter Pettigrew spun around in horror. "J-James? L-Lily? What is this? THE DEAD CAN'T COME BACK!"

"Says who?" said Harry, drawing his wand. "You betrayed us... ruined our family... left our innocent Harry an orphan."

"THIS IS A LIE!" Pettigrew pointed a shaking finger from Harry to Hermione. "Not even the Dark Lord could reawaken the dead! He can't even help himself these days! You... this is obviously a trick!"

"We trusted you!" said Hermione, standing near what was once Hagrid's cabin. "We let you into our house, celebrated Harry's first birthday together, and then you ran once Sirius made you the Secret Keeper... cowardly traitor!"

Pettigrew seemed to have caught on. "I wasn't even at the boy's birthday. Lily and James, eh? _Revelio!_" The well-placed spell caught Harry and Hermione, who now resembled themselves once more. "I knew it!"

"Forget it," muttered Sirius, right after reverting to his human form beside Harry and Hermione. "Don't play games with Peter; I didn't know it'd turn out like this."

"Hey! Turn back into a dog—"

Harry looked across the garden as Pettigrew aimed the umbrella at himself. _"Sonorus!" _And then his squeaky voice was magnified to go right across the grounds. "HELP! IT'S SIRIUS BLACK! SIRIUS BLACK! _Quietus!_" He then blocked Harry and Hermione's Disarming Charms. "You're going back to Azkaban as a soulless husk, 'old friend'."

"If only I had a goddamn wand!"

"Here, it's walnut and dragon heartstring." Harry tossed the wand at Sirius, just as Hermione failed to petrify Pettigrew.

"Bellatrix's wand?" Sirius struggled to discern it beneath the dim moonlight above. "Oh, never mind."

"No, that's my friend, Daphne's," said Harry, just as Hermione went on the attack.

_"Depulso!"_

Pettigrew blocked the Banishing Charm, took cover from Sirius' Expulso Curse, and almost hit Harry in a Cruciatus Curse. "You should've died, and the Dark Lord should've stayed in power!"

"That talentless bitch is using Unforgivables!" said Sirius, pulling Harry behind a rock. "Just stay back; I should've _never_ dragged you into this—"

Harry seemed unusually calm. "I'll take care of Wormtail."

"No, Harry, don't go in alone!" Hermione peeked over a rock and shot a Leg-Locker Curse, which Pettigrew blocked.

"'Talentless'? And yet this supposedly talented Mudblood can't even break my shield," said Pettigrew, standing near a group of barrels while maintaining his Shield Charm. "Tell you what, children, how about handing over Sirius and that cat for me to kill... and then I erase your memories and be on my way? The staff will find you here and think you're the heroes who stopped Sirius Black. That might even fix your damaged relationship with Severus, Harry Potter."

"I'd rather die than betray my friends." Harry joined Sirius and Hermione as they threw whatever spell they could muster at Pettigrew. And it soon became a vicious exchange of spells across the smouldering garden, with Pettigrew doing whatever he could to block, take cover, and respond.

"He's hiding behind those barrels for way too long," said Sirius. "Wait... move!"

Sirius' warning came just in time, for Pettigrew then threw a curse which obliterated the entire patch of garden... much like he'd wrecked that Muggle street years ago. "The Dark Lord taught me many things, Sirius! Not so talentless now, am I? You, on the other hand, are just as pathetic as Snivellus!"

"I'm gonna kill this BITCH—" Sirius leapt over the rock, took aim, and was then caught in the blast of a nearby explosion... courtesy of a missed attack from Pettigrew.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_ yelled Harry, enraged at the sight of his wounded godfather.

The weak jet of green smashed the barrels and caused Pettigrew to stumble backwards, horrified. And then he was caught in Harry's subsequent _Levicorpus_ spell, disarmed by Hermione, and scratched across the face by Crookshanks. "Argh—"

Harry ceased his _Levicorpus_ in favour of yelling, _"Crucio!"_ and Pettigrew screamed and writhed for nearly a minute; the pain wholly unbearable for him here. "Snitches get stitches, Wormtail, hahaha!"

"Oh my God!" Hermione stared, wide-eyed, at Harry. "How—Where did you learn to use both those Unforgivables?"

"Nothing's unforgivable against this piece of shit," said Harry. "Oh no..."

They watched, horror-struck, as at least a hundred Dementors came gliding through the forest nearby. And Harry now heard two faint voices: one in his head... and the other being Hermione nearby. The former could be shut off with Occlumency, but as for the latter...

"Sirius, Hagrid!" Hermione rushed to check up on each of them. "They're not dead, at least—"

"It's OK!" said Harry. "The others will be here any second. _Petrificus Totalus!"_ He petrified Pettigrew and took aim at the incoming Dementors. Finally, it was time to test his many weeks of practice out here... _"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

Something silver shot out the end of his wand. It was a blinding, dazzling length of serpent... and it struck faster than Harry had ever seen a snake attack before. One by one, the Dementors tried and failed to reach Sirius—and they eventually scattered back into the forest once another Patronus arrived. A magnificent, silvery phoenix.

Dumbledore finally arrived on scene, and he immediately surveyed the area around Hagrid's cabin. Next came Professors Lupin and McGonagall, who were clearly astonished at the extent of damage which Pettigrew had caused, as expressed by Lupin. "No wonder Padfoot was caught laughing all those years ago..." He knelt beside the unconscious Sirius and revived him with a spell.

"We'd best give them some space to apologise and catch up," said Harry, leading Hermione away from Lupin and Sirius. "This would've been so much easier if we just snuck in and snatched Wormtail. Or if you'd got that story about my birthday right."

"Doesn't matter; it's done." Hermione went over to apologise and explain the situation to a most unsettled Hagrid nearby. Then it was the combined efforts of Hermione, Hagrid, and McGonagall which restored the cabin and its garden, while Harry and Dumbledore levitated the petrified Pettigrew up to the castle.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Dumbledore asked, as they walked through the darkened Entrance Courtyard. "All of this, including the freedom of an innocent man, from simply befriending and treating a 'lesser creature' with respect."

"And the same for Ginny and I last year, thanks to Fawkes."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, who paused to undo some enchantments on the front doors. "I think it's safe to say that we will no longer be needing Professor Flitwick's protective measures against Sirius Black."

Harry heard a great scuffling of shoes coming from below, once he and Dumbledore entered the Entrance Hall. "Are we making this public, sir?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Third-years and up, but not for the Dementors' Kiss. You may head inside and take a seat up at the staff table; Cornelius and the others should be joining us soon."

"Sir, before I go, I have a question..." Harry fidgeted with his fingers while inquiring about his Patronus. "... it wasn't exactly Prongs, as I'd've thought."

"Think of it as proof that Professor Snape's doubts in you are, indeed, baseless." Dumbledore smiled. "Your father lives on, within you, mainly through your values and actions... and that's irrespective of which form your Patronus has taken."

There was no doubt that this was about to be an eventful night ahead, and Harry therefore made his way up to the staff table in no time. It felt extremely awkward and strange to be up here, overlooking the perpendicular rows of house tables, but he soon grew used to it. The arriving students, however, were utterly gobsmacked at being called to the Great Hall at this hour... not to mention seeing Harry sitting beside the Headmaster's chair.

"You taking over from Lupin next year, Harry?" Lavender Brown asked, over the crowd of gawking students. "Defence teachers don't last long, remember?"

More students entered the Hall, chatting and pointing out Harry in much confusion, before settling into their seats. And then, Harry went slightly red at seeing Pansy and the girls giggling at him from their usual spot, and he felt a surge of anger at some of his less likable housemates...

"Maybe they've finally decided to expel him?" Malfoy asked, deliberately raising his voice over many students. "'Famous Harry Potter gets kicked out for defying his own house's founder... and betraying his housemates as well.'"

"Shut up already," said Marcus Flint. "You sound like a broken gramophone or something."

At the Gryffindor table, the Weasleys could be seen sitting together—in silence—near Hermione. No doubt they'd recently been informed about the whole Scabbers thing, in private.

Then came the staff members, one by one, who took their seats along their table. And judging by their astonished expressions, it was clear that either Dumbledore or McGonagall had briefed them on tonight's events as well. They were all keen on hearing Harry's version of the story now, and he made sure to omit anything with regards to the Marauder's Map and Sirius' Animagus abilities.

"Unbelievable..." said Professor Flitwick, two seats on Harry's left. "I've always said we often give our students far too little credit at times."

"Severus doesn't seem all that pleased, though," said Professor Sprout, looking down the table at the Potions master. "You'd think he'd've grown out of his old grudges with Sirius Black, but no..."

No food was served in the Great Hall this time, not as Minister Fudge, Madam Bones (whose presence brought her niece, Susan, a moment of fame at the Hufflepuff table), some male writer from the Daily Prophet, and a few members of the Auror Department arrived to oversee tonight's proceedings. They took some extra seats at the extended staff table and watched as Dumbledore walked up to his owl lectern.

"Good evening to everyone. And to our students, you've been summoned from the cosy warmth of your common rooms and dormitories to bear witness to one of the greatest injustices of our time: Sirius Black."

Many students began whispering and speculating, which Harry could hear from his spot at the staff table.

"We all know the story of Harry Potter, who had lost both his parents to Lord Voldemort over twelve years ago." Dumbledore wasn't too bothered by the shivers, gasps, and other expressions of fear at the name. "But, just how were the Potters discovered at their place of refuge; their home? I shall spare you the lengthy details and simply say that it was Sirius Black who betrayed them..." He paused to observe the students' reactions. Many were fervently whispering and glancing towards Harry now. "... or so we all thought."

At that moment, Sirius casually strolled into the Great Hall; his presence made even more terrifying as he levitated the petrified Pettigrew while walking. Now hundreds of students almost leapt out their seats in terror, until Dumbledore quelled the situation.

"Settle down into your seats please. Sirius, put him here," said Dumbledore, after the crowd realised that nary a staff nor Ministry member had panicked at the sight of Sirius Black, although they were staring at him quite incredulously nonetheless. He may be clean and kempt now, but Sirius' image had still sparked fear across the wizarding and Muggle worlds for nearly a year.

"So... is he not going to be arrested then?" asked one of the Hufflepuffs.

"Over twelve years ago," said Dumbledore, continuing, "this 'brave' man over here, Peter Pettigrew, was believed to have perished alongside twelve Muggles in Sirius' attack. However, recent information—as discovered by Mr. Potter himself—suggests otherwise. Harry over here had, by coincidence, encountered Sirius Black within the grounds of Hogwarts itself, and that was where the true explanation was revealed..." He proceeded to explain about Sirius' confrontation with Pettigrew.

"B-But he laughed!" said a Ravenclaw student, pointing at Sirius. "He laughed when they caught him."

"Out of sheer disbelief at having been betrayed by his own friend," said Dumbledore, to which Malfoy mentioned Harry's 'betrayal' against his peers. "Please refrain from commenting, Mr. Malfoy. Your 'situation' is entirely of your own doing."

Harry was pleased to see Malfoy looking down, disgraced, as many students turned to look at him.

"Now, after Sirius Black had been falsely imprisoned, our true criminal over here, Peter Pettigrew, then used his Animagus abilities to disguise himself for over a decade."

"Tell them!" said Ron, who stood up from his seat... despite Percy's attempts to stop him. "That Pettigrew guy was our rat for twelve years! How would you all feel if you suddenly found out some creep's been sharing your bed this whole time?"

Many students gaped, poked fun, or scoffed at Ron before Dumbledore continued. "Well, I suppose that's that then. Mr. Weasley's words are true. Peter Pettigrew had indeed been hiding as 'Scabbers' in a respectable wizarding family"—some of the Slytherins and Ravenclaws snorted—"for so many years. The details are not important; all that matters is that we've apprehended the true traitor to an innocent family... after all this time. Sirius, if you'd like the honour..."

Sirius drew the walnut wand which Harry had borrowed him, to which an excited Daphne whispered "That's my wand!" to all those around her.

_"Finite Incantatem!"_ said Sirius, freeing Pettigrew from the Full Body-Bind Curse. "Let's see you hide this time, rat."

Pettigrew got to his knees while darting his eyes about; no doubt looking for some way out of his impossible predicament. Then, suddenly, a hint of vengeance could be seen on his expression as he pointed his middle finger at Sirius. "Wait! He's an illegal Animagus; a very big, black dog!"

Some students gasped, particularly Ginny and Pansy. The staff and Ministry officials, however, turned to look at Sirius.

Harry knew that the penalty for not registering one's Animagus form was an Azkaban sentence, and so he quickly jumped to his furious godfather's defence. "I'm sure we can all make an exception for just this one occasion."

Dumbledore added his bit as well. "I was only recently informed that Sirius Black became an Animagus during his days of watching over the Potters." This was clearly a lie, and a necessary one at that. "Between then and the tragic events which soon unfolded, there was far too little time for Sirius to have registered himself at the Ministry. And, of course, his time in Azkaban provided absolutely no possibility of doing so either."

The Ministry officials discussed this among each other until Madam Bones gave her verdict. "Given the extraordinary circumstances surrounding this breach in rules, Sirius Black is hereby pardoned—on condition that he register himself by the end of this week."

A relieved, albeit fuming, Sirius nodded in agreement. "Will do, definitely. Better than getting the Dementors' Kiss, huh, Wormtail? That's his _illegal_ Animagus name, by the way."

"Can we please continue with tonight's proceedings?" Madam Bones asked. "Peter Pettigrew, I find it interesting that you've never attempted to harm Harry Potter at school."

A relieved look appeared on Pettigrew's face, and he immediately nodded. "Yes, Madam. I was always under the impression that someone would try and harm the boy at school, and so I tried to protect him—"

"I'll tell you why he never came after me," said Harry, standing near Pettigrew. "He only does things when he's sure they're to his benefit. Attacking me here, with no confirmation of Voldemort or any top Death Eater being out there, would've been far too risky. Not to mention the stupidity of trying that stunt right under the Headmaster's nose."

"But the sightings and attacks," said Pettigrew, who was clearly grasping for straws now. "Sirius Black's been causing panic and unrest all year long."

"How thick are you, Wormtail?" Sirius asked, almost sneering at the squirming Pettigrew. "The only reason I kept trying to break into this school was to get to _you_, idiot. And besides, who'd believe my version of events without evidence?"

"Now, I have a question," said Head Auror Scrimgeour. "How exactly did you break out of Azkaban, Black? I hope you realise the significance of this question with regards to safeguarding our population."

Sirius gave a truly vague explanation of using his Animagus form; no finer details added.

"Interesting," said Scrimgeour. "We'll have to ensure the rest of the inmates are checked for similar abilities... and the Dementors will need a debriefing too."

Sirius' method was so simple that many in the crowd were caught between astonishment and disappointment. Because, after all the speculations surrounding the possibility of him having had Dark powers unheard of... many students (and some staff) were left with such a plain and simple tale now.

"I think we've stalled this Kiss long enough—" Sirius was cut off by one more spiteful action from Pettigrew, who immediately pointed at a wide-eyed Lupin.

"Remus Lupin's a _werewolf_! Gets 'sick' once a month, huh?"

Nearly all the students gasped or panicked among one another at this revelation.

"I knew it!"

"How could they keep this from us?"

"They should give Lupin the Kiss too!"

"Dumbledore should be fired!"

"You see?" said Malfoy, seizing the opportunity to gain more support. "_Famous_ Slytherin Potter allies himself with Mudbloods and werewolves! And he hates respectable pure-bloods like me and my father!"

Everyone who had once been ignorant with regards to Lupin's condition turned to stare at him, and these included the entire Ministry delegation as well. They immediately called Dumbledore aside for questioning, to which McGonagall and many others backed their colleague. In fact, the only Ministry official who appeared understanding towards Lupin (who sat frozen in his seat) was the Auror-in-training witch, who Harry recalled seeing on the train.

"Is it really that big of a deal?" she asked. "As long as he's been on the Wolfsbane, everything's fine, right? And I hear he's been a very decent Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher; the best one in years."

"Fair point," said Head Auror Scrimgeour, who then saw Sirius and Harry kicking Pettigrew in retaliation. "Dawlish, Robards, separate those two from Pettigrew immediately."

Something came flashing in the corner of Harry's eye, and he quickly threw up a Shield Charm. This caused two Aurors to have their spells deflected at them, before Harry and Sirius finally stopped their brief assault on Pettigrew.

The damage to Lupin's reputation was already done.

"See? Potter even loses his temper like a Muggle," said Nott, seated somewhere near Malfoy. "How much more convincing do you people need?"

Pettigrew tried one more gamble to, somehow, worm his way out of trouble. "Listen, what if I told you that You-Know—"

_"Silencio!"_ Madam Bones was clearly not in the mood to drag this trial on any longer. "Get the students out; they've already seen and heard enough about Peter Pettigrew."

At this, the Heads of House ushered their students out the Great Hall and back to their common rooms. Some of the other staff also filed out, and only a select few people opted to remain as the Dementor was brought in.

It was quick. Peter Pettigrew was no more, thanks to the Dementors' Kiss.

Harry turned and saw Lupin sitting, with head in hands, at his part of the table. The Auror-in-training named 'Nymphadora' was currently trying to pep-talk him. "Look there, man; the snitch got his Kiss! We could use his soulless body for target practise now, if you'd like?"

"Oi, what's your deal anyway?" Harry asked, as he glanced curiously at the Auror-in-training. "'Nymphadora', was it?"

"I _far_ prefer my surname, little Auror-fighter." She looked from Harry to Sirius. "Nice little family you two are. But, I suppose you'll have to let me in now."

"What?"

Sirius smiled. "Harry, meet Nymphadora Tonks, she's basically my cousin. Well, actually, she's the daughter of my cousin, Andromeda. Same difference anyway."

"We might as well help this poor gentleman over here start packing up," said Tonks, following Lupin out the Great Hall. "Let 'em leave on a good note, you see, before all the angry parents and guardians start sending their letters. Wait, shouldn't you be heading to the dungeons, little Auror-fighter?"

Harry scoffed. "Screw the rules."

"Spoken like his father," said a proud Sirius.


	18. Moony

"You know," said Lupin, standing near the empty Grindylow tank in his office. "Of all the ways I imagined my condition would be outed, Wormtail definitely wasn't one of them."

Sirius looked out the office window, overlooking the darkened grounds. "At least we got the bastard in the end."

"They ought to strip him and leave Wormtail's naked, soulless body to wither away in Azkaban," said Harry. "He'll probably piss and shit on himself like a real rat now."

Lupin shivered. "Please don't give me that mental image."

Tonks looked quizzically at Harry. "Blimey, what the hell goes through your head, little Auror-fighter?"

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because it's true... and hilarious as well," said Tonks. "Mad-Eye's gonna have a real laugh when I mention Dawlish and Robards getting blasted back by a third-year's Shield Charms. That's not something you see every day."

"He's James' son," said Sirius, as if that explained it all. Then he rubbed Lupin's shoulder while speaking, "Don't look so glum. So what if all those sad sods and their parents send you hate mail? Harry and I can give you all the coin and Wolfsbane you need, Moony."

Tonks suddenly gasped. "Moony... Wormtail... Padfoot... did you guys, like, make a map of the school or something? There's a 'Prongs' too, I think."

Sirius looked alarmed. "How do you know about that?"

"Top-secret information that is," said Harry, narrowing his eyes at Tonks. "You spying on us for the Auror Department? Speak."

"Or what?" Tonks looked mildly amused. "You gonna go street-gangster on me as well? And by the way, it's 'Auror Headquarters'. We fall under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, little Auror-fighter."

"Careful there," said Sirius. "They made the Hogwarts motto after Harry, you know—"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Lupin. "Although... I must admit that he's got a rather nasty temper. Reminds me a bit of Lily."

Sirius smiled. "Good times, especially against Snivellus. Hey, do you remember when James got him after—"

"Harry doesn't need to know about that," said Lupin, frowning. "Snape already got the fright of his life when Harry used a certain, ankle-lifting spell on him this evening. Good thing he actually wears trousers these days."

"You did that to Snivellus, Harry? Excellent!" Sirius saw Lupin's expression, and then he quickly changed the topic by looking at Tonks instead. "So, er, yeah, we made that map; and Prongs was Harry's father. Now, Cadet, do tell us how you happen to know about our secret weapon."

"'Cadet'?"

"There's also 'private', 'ensign', 'rookie', or 'toilet-scrubber' for you," said Harry.

Tonks smiled. "I'll keep that in mind for when you decide to become an Auror someday." And she soon changed the topic to her own experience with the Marauder's Map, during her final years at school. "... it's all true, no lies."

"Interesting," said Lupin.

Minutes of packing and discussion passed by until Sirius eventually spoke. "There's no way I'm going back to my accursed 'family' house tomorrow, Harry. You and Moony can come live with me, preferably in the countryside or something."

Harry didn't know why, but he suddenly pictured Sirius and Mrs. Parkinson hanging out together. "You should try somewhere in Northumberland. My friend, Pansy, lives in the countryside there."

"Is that that friend of yours whose mother was a Death Eater?" asked Sirius.

Harry nodded, and then he saw the alarmed expressions on both Sirius and Tonks' faces. "She's really not that bad, you know."

"Correction: I meant 'is' a Death Eater," said Sirius. "There's just no trusting those who aided or worked under Voldemort in the past; they never change. And besides, your pal's mother was a fairly notorious Death Eater during the war... as Mad-Eye would tell you."

"Does he even know who Mad-Eye is?" asked Tonks, as she looked at Harry. "He was that guy with the weird magical eye, hence his name, that was on the train with me. Some real nasty fights happened between him and Holly Parkinson in the past."

"It's getting quite late," said Lupin, sticking out his hand. "Harry, it's been a real pleasure meeting and teaching you—"

Sirius lowered the handshake offer. "No need to make this so emotional and stuff; we're going ahead with that plan tomorrow."

"No, we're not," said Lupin. "It's far too risky, and if anything goes wrong..."

Sirius sighed. "Nothing will go wrong, okay? Now, Tonks, would you mind taking Harry back to his common room? Oh, and here's his friend's wand; do give it back. I'm gonna stay up here and help Remus get himself organised. The last of the gang's gotta stick together, you know?"

"Quit standing there looking cute; let's go." Tonks led Harry out the room and down the corridor outside. "It's always great to be back here, Harry; Hogwarts really sticks with you after you leave."

"Well, if the next four years are anything like my first three... it's gonna be a long and hectic ride until the end." They swapped stories while making their way down the Grand Staircase, with Tonks recalling some of her own epic adventures throughout school.

"... No lies! Pince ran for her life when I pulled out that Mandrake! Oh, oh! And we once whacked the whole Great Hall with boomerangs, and we fought a dragon..." Tonks had some good stories indeed, but she was far more impressed with Harry's record at school thus far. "Geez, You-Know-Who in your first year? I always thought Quirrell was a bit dodgy, yeah."

"That's nothing. Imagine your own roommate's father almost causing Voldemort to come back... as his student self." Harry spoke of his time in the Chamber, and then he smiled while remembering how he'd ended that filthy beast. "... a Basilisk, Tonks, no lies."

"A Snake killing the worst snake? Irony at its best."

But Harry wasn't done yet, and he whipped out his Invisibility Cloak. "Bet you've never seen one this good, huh?" Then he threw it around himself and eventually took it off.

Tonks was most definitely in awe, but she had her own little tricks too. "Wicked! But, who needs an Invisibility Cloak when you can do this?" She shut her eyes, concentrated hard, and then changed her hair from its short, spiky pink to a lengthy black. "Never met a Metamorphmagus before, I see. There's no learning it; you're either born one or will never be one.. and that's why we're so rare."

Harry looked like a fish out of water, figuratively speaking, from the way he gaped at Tonks. "But... but that's not fair. I wish I was a Metamorphmagus."

"Bet you wouldn't mind hiding that thing, huh?" Her eyes darted to the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead. "Kinda looks like an 'N', if you look at it a certain way..."

"It's the wand movement for the Killing Curse; I, er, figured that out by sheer coincidence." They descended the marble staircase and turned a sharp right, which took them to the narrow stone staircase leading down to the dungeons.

"And what does 'sheer coincidence' mean, huh? Don't worry; I won't tell anyone."

"Restricted Section," said Harry, just before Tonks left him at the blank stretch of wall which concealed the Slytherin common-room door. "Well, um, until we meet again."

"Watch your back in that den of scummy villainy, little Auror-fighter."

No sooner had Harry entered the common room than he saw, to his frustration, some of the house scattered about the long, low underground room—and it didn't take Harry long to figure out the reason for their segregation. Some remained on his side while others stood against him, and then there were those who avoided this conflict altogether.

"Watch out, everyone!" said Draco Malfoy, seated far ahead amidst a dozen students whom Harry never liked. "He might just sic a werewolf on us tomorrow, if that filth is still at school by then."

Harry descended the entrance steps and approached the fireplace on his left, where over a dozen friendly faces occupied the chairs and couches here. "No need to explain; I already know what this is about."

"I'd like to see you try beating us up like you did that helpless Pettigrew guy," said a sixth-year boy seated near Malfoy's group.

"A point from Slytherin for trying to instigate a conflict, Rowle, and the same for you, Malfoy," said Yasmin Shafiq, seated on the couch where Harry stood. "Anyone else looking to start trouble?"

A female seventh-year scoffed at this. "You're only on Potter's side because he got Flint to finally take in girls. It's so obvious and pathetic, really."

"Slytherins should never side with werewolf scum," said a fourth-year boy. "Not to mention Mudbloods either."

Malfoy added his say once more. "Potter thinks he's so special just because he's got a godfather now."

Just as Harry was about to respond, Flint and the boys suddenly came to surround him. "Ignore them, man," said Miles Bletchley. "It's been this way ever since Malfoy went on and on after the trial. Too bad the git couldn't get more idiots on his side."

"What did you say?" asked a sixth-year boy, standing up from somewhere across the room. "I'd be more worried over my Keeper abilities if I were you, Bletchley."

"Hey, hey, hey; let's not make this personal," Flint said, cracking his knuckles. "Now, can we all stop acting like a common-room full of prats and get to bed already? Potter's had enough rubbish to deal with for one night, people."

"Thinks he's hot stuff after getting lucky against those two Aurors," said a fourth-year girl. "They weren't even trying, really."

Pansy snorted while laying across Daphne's lap on their couch, which stood to the right of the fireplace nearest Harry. "Nobody asked your opinion."

It didn't take long for the prefects to finally usher the dozens of students back to their dormitories, which brought a welcome silence to the common room now. This allowed Harry to sink into the nearest couch and relax... until his roommates swarmed him here.

"You little..." Pansy grabbed him into a headlock. "Why didn't you tell us anything about tonight, huh? We could've helped you catch that ugly rat bastard! He made you a poor little orphan!"

"Yeah!" said Millicent, standing behind Pansy and looking thoroughly surprised. "All that stuff just came out of nowhere! What's the deal? How long have you kept such secrets from us?"

"You've got a godfather now, Harry!" Daphne pulled him into a warm, cosy hug. "Sirius Black! Is that why you never cared about going after him? Did you know he was your godfather? Did you know he was innocent? Why didn't you tell any of the staff? And where's my wand?"

Sally-Anne was firing so many questions at Harry that he struggled to keep up. "... you let Granger in on this thing but not us, huh? How could the Weasleys NOT have guessed that something was whack with their rat? Are they _that_ dumb? You'd think Head Boy would've had some brains but nooooo..."

Finally, it was Tracey who settled everyone down. "So, Harry, what happens now? Are you still going to live with them Muggles now that you've got a godfather? You're welcome to move in with us in the meantime."

Harry smiled. "Tempting offer, especially with Hermione not too far away from there. But, my precious roomie, it all rests on our Headmaster now. Dumbledore gets the final say."

"Ahem," said Prefect Yasmin near the fireplace. "Girls—and boy—I think it's time for you all to head to your room." Then she looked at Harry and patted him on the shoulder. "Brilliant Shield Charms, by the way. I told you they'd come in handy, didn't I?"

"So much is going to change now," said Pansy, wiping away a tear as the group made their way into the girls' dormitories. "You're gonna get letters and presents and lots of love now, Harry; just like those with parents usually do."

Tracey nodded. "So now you've gotta work even harder, 'cos you gotta give your godfather reason to be proud of you. I mean, did he really wait _twelve years _to break out of Azkaban? If it was that simple for Mister Big Dog, then why didn't he come out sooner? Would've saved you from that hellish time at the Dursley pigs!"

"Speaking of which..." Pansy paused outside their dormitory door. "That was Sirius Black then, wasn't it? Back at the playground, I mean."

"Playground?" Harry turned to look at Pansy. "What are you—"

"That 'Muggle' with the skates and all that, well... That was me under Human Transfiguration." She grinned at the shocked expression on Harry's face. "'Holly Nates' never existed; I just got that idea from Mom."

And so, for the rest of the night until they were half-asleep, Harry told his roommates all about his eventful Saturday which had just about passed. He spoke of the locker-room confrontation, Crookshanks, the Marauder's Map (which left the girls utterly flabbergasted), and Sirius Black's plan of action... including Wormtail's capture (although he left out the finer details).

On Sunday morning, Harry got up around dawn and finished his morning routine early. He wasn't about to let Lupin leave the school while feeling utterly unwanted. "Hey, is anyone awake in here?"

Tracey opened her curtains and rubbed her eyes beneath her oval glasses, while standing in her grey dressing gown. "What's the deal, man? It's barely seven in the morning. Train only leaves at eleven."

"Can't you guys skip it, just this once?" Harry sighed as he stood near his trunk. "It's full moon later on, and Professor Lupin's been on the Wolfsbane all week thus far. One more dose, and it'll be a really nice experience to get up close with a sane werewolf."

"You're joking, right?" Tracey stared in disbelief at him. "None of our families would ever let us get close to a werewolf, even if supposedly 'sane'."

"What's this about a werewolf?" Pansy asked, yawning. "Harry with his wild imagination again?" Then she listened as Harry explained his plans for today. "Whew, I _might_ be able to convince Mom to let me stay, but the rest of us are an absolute no-go. You know their parents would go ballistic, right?"

Tracey nodded in agreement. "Sorry, Harry, but that's just how it is. You angry at us? We can always write a letter of appreciation to Lupin; he was a really nice teacher after all."

"No, it's not that." Harry rubbed his chin while in thought. "Call it instincts, but... I just got this _nasty_ feeling about Snape today. Something tells me he's not gonna give Moony that last dose of Wolfsbane Potion."

"Then you'd better go check things out right now... after putting something in that tummy, of course." Pansy shared some nougat and chocolate with Harry before the latter went off in search of Snape.

Since the Potions master was currently in office, it didn't take long for Harry to head down the corridor and reach his destination. And he soon tucked away the map and knocked on the door.

"Enter." Snape looked up from his desk and frowned. "You are quite possibly the _last_ thing I'd like to see at this hour, Potter. What is it?" He listened as Harry discussed the latter's plans with regards to Lupin later on, which Snape clearly wasn't approving of. "Absolutely not! I can't believe you'd even consider wasting my time with something so utterly foolish!"

"But, if Lupin could just have his last dose of Wolfsbane Potion for the week—"

Snape stood up and summoned a cauldron, which was partially filled with some Wolfsbane Potion. "Ah, yes. I believe this should be enough to provide one more dose for Lupin. Hold that goblet, Potter."

Harry grabbed a goblet and watched as Snape filled it up, and then the latter drew his wand.

_"Evanesco!"_ The potion had vanished, leaving Harry standing like a fool before Snape. "Oops, have I just mistakenly vanished this all-important potion? Oh well, I suppose we all make mistakes, right, Potter? At least mine wasn't as bad as a certain student attacking his teacher... and right within the Headmaster's office too."

"What about Lupin? He needed that seventh dose!"

Snape sneered. "Then let us hope he's as far away from here as possible by tonight. Now get out of my office, Potter, and don't even think about trying to smuggle Lupin into the Shrieking Shack. The consequences of that would be... _severe_."

Harry placed the goblet on Snape's desk and immediately left the office, mentally swearing as he did so. But all hope wasn't yet lost, and he soon did what any cunning Slytherin would do...

"So?" Pansy asked, once Harry returned to their dormitory. "Are we all set for tonight?"

Harry told of how Snape had so spitefully vanished the last of his Wolfsbane Potion... but, whoever said that Snape was the only potion-maker around? "... A little Galleons goes a long way, so let's scout the papers for a damn good apothecary. Preferably more elite than the one in Diagon Alley."

One by one, the rest of the girls got up and joined in on the search. They scrounged up past and present issues of the _Daily Prophet_ from their drawers, pored over their pages, took down names, and eventually compiled their information. It was nearly eight o'clock by now, with breakfast being served in the Great Hall as the group sat in their dormitory.

"There's a few names which pop up every now and then in the papers," said Millicent, munching on some leftover candy. "But I think you ought to try this one: 'The Apothecarium of Horace E.F. Slughorn.' That name kinda sounds familiar."

Pansy gasped. "I think... yeah! Slughorn was the Potions master here before Snape! Damn good potion-maker, according to Mom."

Daphne clapped her hands together. "Well, there we go! If it's according to Aunt Holly, then that guy's gotta be decent. Wait, he probably taught all our parents, right?"

"Probably been here as long as Dumbledore, almost," said Sally-Anne. "Come, come! You gotta write a letter and organise some potion on the double, Harry! No sitting and stalling."

Harry didn't care that he still had a Chocolate Frog half sticking out of his mouth; he chomped it down while rushing out the common room and down the corridor. From the dungeons to the fourth floor, Harry made haste as he set off for the Owlery—which he reached in about ten minutes.

"Hedwig, girl, where are you? Son of a—" He threw up a weak Shield Charm just as some owl droppings came falling from above... although obviously not from Hedwig; she knew better than to disrespect her owner like that. "That wasn't you, right?"

The snowy owl swooped down, hooted, and sat on the table where Harry started writing his letter. According to the mini-catalogue near the back of the newspaper, this Slughorn character seemed to be fairly expensive in his line of products. And while it did seem to list all sorts of potions, the catalogue warned that 'toxic and/or ultra rare brews are not for sale'. Well, Harry was grateful to see that some Wolfsbane Potion was currently available, irrespective of its eighty-Galleon-a-dose price tag.

"Here you go, girl." Harry tied the letter to Hedwig's leg and fed her some treats from his pocket. "The newspaper said to seek out a Horace Slughorn, who's somewhere in Northumberland with his shop. You find him and try to bring back that dose of Wolfsbane Potion, all right? Oh, and here's the coin." He tied a Feather-Light-Charmed sack of eighty Galleons to Hedwig's free leg before sending her off. And he sincerely hoped that this H.E.F.S apothecarium wasn't a scam of sorts.

With the potion problem supposedly taken care of, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall at last. The atmosphere at breakfast was livelier than usual, no doubt owing to last night's events as well as the prospect of heading home for Easter. There were also dozens of heads turned in Harry's direction now, as he made his way towards his usual spot at the far end of the Slytherin table.

"Ignore the looks and stuff," said Pansy, once Harry sat himself down beside her. "People are still gossiping about how you and godfather-dearest gave that snitch to the Dementor."

Sally-Anne swallowed her mouthful of chicken and nodded. "Yeah, not to mention the whole werewolf thing. They seem to think that you knew all along about Lupin, and Malfoy's big mouth isn't helping one bit."

Harry sighed. "I wish there was something that could shut that loser up—"

"Um, actually..." Daphne (as well as the other girls) looked a tad misty-eyed as she placed a small, rectangular box on the table. "This came for you while you were still busy at the Owlery... Professor Dumbledore got the mail and, well... he received one for Hermione Granger too, and your godfather."

Millicent crossed her arms and gave a proud smile at Harry. "Your wish has been granted; Malfoy will be drowning in his jealousy at this."

Harry watched, confused, as Daphne opened the box and slid it before him on the table. A layer of green silk covered the base of the box, but this was mere decoration for a green-ribboned medal laying upon it.

"An Order of Merlin!" said Pansy, glancing from the medal to the gobsmacked Harry. "And not just any one..."

Tracey, who sat opposite Harry and with her back to the Ravenclaws, smiled as well. "First Class, baby! Oh, and there's something under the silk too, look!"

Harry pulled out a certificate which read: _Awarded to Harry James Potter for acts of outstanding bravery or distinction in magic._ And it went on to list the capture of Peter Pettigrew as well as the exoneration of Sirius Black.

Daphne spoke up next. "And the Headmaster gave me a Special Award for Services to the School, thanks to your godfather embellishing the story of my wand-borrowing last night. Well, it's not exactly a lie, is it? I kinda did play my part in helping you and godfather-dearest bring in that rat bastard."

Sally-Anne scowled and smashed a potato in her plate. "I knew I should've borrowed my wand to you last night, Harry. They might as well give Granger's cat an award too, while they're at it."

"Pah! Getting jealous over a fellow Scouser's award?" Daphne tilted her head and snorted. "You'll only see that sort of behaviour in Liverpool."

"Why do you look so shocked, Harry?" asked Millicent, as she saw him staring into the box. "You should've got this when you were a—Oh, never mind... terrible joke."

"We could've all got some sort of award if you took us with last night," said Pansy, slightly frowning.

Harry shook his head. "You guys weren't there when Wormtail almost blew us all up. We had to be a small enough group for safety's sake."

"Relax, I was just joking," said Pansy. "But, um, you might not find this funny... Granger's medal is actually Second Class, unlike yours."

_"What?"_ Harry looked over the heads of many staring students. "That's not right! She did just as much as Sirius and I in capturing Wormtail!" He stood up and got through dozens of handshakes until he reached the Gryffindor table, where Fred and George led the whistles and congratulations here. Thankfully, Hermione tended to sit at the near edge of her table these days, since this allowed for a quicker escape out the Great Hall. "Hey, Hermione, I don't think that award's right. You should've got a First Class one like me."

Hermione pinned her purple-ribboned medal to her jumper. "All that matters is that you've got your godfather freed now, Harry, honestly. And I kind of like the colour purple anyway. Look at this lovely silk—"

"No, I won't rest until you've got the medal you deserve. Give me that." Harry stuck out his hand. "I'll send it back and demand that the Wizengamot give you the right one."

"I think you're overreacting."

"And I think you're underreacting."

"Come on, Hermione," said a slightly blushing Ginny from a few seats away. "Can't you see how much he cares? The guy's willing to take on the whole damn court just for you!"

"Oh, all right." Hermione packed up her box and handed it over to Harry, who took it and returned to the Slytherin table.

Malfoy jeered as Harry walked by. "I hear they gave your Mudblood thing Second Class. Well, that's the best she can hope to be in our society."

"You should probably get a Third Class one for adding to our store of entertainment," said Harry. "It's almost fun watching a stupid prat make a fool of himself on a regular basis."

Many Slytherins and Ravenclaws laughed at Harry's remark, which left Malfoy and his supporters fuming in their seats. But Harry wasn't in the mood to waste any more time here, and he quickly left to explain the situation to his girls.

"How can Granger be so daft?" asked Tracey, after listening to Harry's frustration. "She's either playing hard-to-get or she's just too damn thick to understand your affection, Harry. Book smarts ain't everything, I suppose."

Pansy placed her hand on Harry's. "So, baby Potter, if I ever only get Second Class, would you be willing to fight for me like this?"

"Your mum would beat me to it," replied Harry, much to the others' amusement. Then he turned to see Marcus Flint approaching from the right. "Something wrong, Captain?"

"Nah, listen..." Flint lowered his voice. "I was thinking of making it me, you, and that Shafiq girl in Chaser. That's a nice variety of size behind the Quaffle, eh? Then we'll keep Bletchley as Keeper and play Derrick and that Tiffany chick as Beaters. You know Tiffany, right? Bletchley's cousin?"

Harry nodded. He'd seen her on the Marauder's Map when he first got it from Fred and George, at The Burrow. This meant that Tiffany had been one of the few students, and the only Slytherin, who remained at school over the Christmas holidays. "And who's Seeker?"

"Might as well play Higgs one more time before we leave," said Flint. This was actually a solid plan; Terence Higgs was noticeably taller than Harry, and Cedric wouldn't be prepared for that in their upcoming match. "Oh, and try to have our Two Thousands organised by first week back, OK?"

As the morning moved on and most students readied themselves to head for the horseless carriages, Harry went straight to Dumbledore's office instead. The Headmaster was quite impressed with Harry's backup plan for Lupin, although he expressed disappointment at Snape's actions this morning. "I think Professor Snape is taking your Order of Merlin award rather badly, not to mention Sirius' one too," said Dumbledore. "Congratulations, by the way, although it's a pity they don't hand them out to animals as well. Crookshanks could certainly do with a commendation for his efforts."

"About Hermione's medal..." Harry spoke of his indignation towards the Wizengamot's decision here. "Is it because she's Muggle-born? Surely you can pull some strings with your Chief Warlock status, right?"

"There are... quite a number of folks in the Ministry who remain stuck in their ways, as Nobby Leach once found out. Rest assured that I'll make it a priority to ensure Miss Granger gets the award she deserves, Harry." But that wasn't all, and Dumbledore ended up listening quite intently as Harry spoke of tonight's plan. "Well, as long as Remus receives his final dose of Wolfsbane Potion for this cycle, I see no reason to oppose your idea."

Harry sighed. "I calculated that it'll take Hedwig about ten hours to fly to this Slughorn man and back... so she'll be cutting it close with sunset." Now, with little else left to do, he spent the rest of his morning with Pansy and Hermione in the library—while many others left for the train. "Nice to see you two sitting together like this."

"Don't get your Second Class germs on me, Granger," said Pansy, shifting her chair about an inch further from Hermione. "I plan on winning First someday, yeah."

"You'll win a first-class kick out the library, by Madam Pince, if you don't shush," replied Hermione. "Stop making faces at me and start moving on with that assignment."

They finished the start of their Potions essays by lunch and made their way to a partially filled Great Hall, where roughly a third of the school had chosen to remain behind over the next two weeks. And before they knew it, Harry, Hermione, and Pansy ended up sitting for well over an hour at the Slytherin table while poring over their books.

"Hey, it's Hedwig!" said Pansy, nudging a confused Harry on the shoulder.

"Surely she can't be back so soon from your area?" Harry scratched the back of his hair as Hedwig dropped a fairly small box right beside him, which startled Hermione.

"I'm working here!"

"Ignore the bookworm, girl," said Harry, patting his owl on her head. Then he opened the box and saw, to his amazement, a bottle labelled: _Wolfsbane Potion: 1 dose_ as well as a piece of parchment. "Did you, like, fly twice as fast today or something? No way."

Hedwig hooted and flew out the Great Hall, most likely to get some sleep at the Owlery again. This left Harry to withdraw the parchment and have a look at it, which read:

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Thank you for your custom. I have taken the liberty of Side-Along-Apparating your owl to Hogsmeade to reduce its return trip._

_Kind regards_

_Horace E.F. Slughorn_

"Well, that settles it then!" said a cheerful Pansy. "Good on old Sluggy to favour the rich and famous again! Man's still got it, I see."

Harry wasn't entirely sure what Pansy meant. He simply shrugged and took the Wolfsbane Potion up to the staff table, where Lupin had just arrived for a late (and probably his last) lunch here. The latter's presence was clearly unnerving to many students, who immediately got up and went elsewhere.

"What's that you got there, Harry?" Lupin asked, as he helped himself to some stew. "Better than an envelope, I suppose. Can you believe the amount of Howlers and hate mail I've received in my office since breakfast? Not that I actually heard or read much of them. Sorry, but I need to get this down and get as far away from civilisation as possible before sunset—"

"That would be preferable, yes," said a sneering Snape, who sat a few seats away from Lupin for some late lunch as well. "And where's Black? He'd better not be planning on sneaking you through that tunnel again."

Harry kept his eyes on Snape while placing the bottle before a curious Lupin. "I got this for you today, Moony. It's a dose of Wolfsbane Potion."

"R-Really?" asked Lupin, while Snape practically choked on his meal. "I know you're a decent Potions student, but, I wasn't expecting _this_!"

Harry suppressed his grin while explaining all about his mail-order plan for today. Naturally, this wiped the smug look from Snape's face and brought a proud smile from Lupin.

"Brilliant thinking there... Excellent! A pity I can't award house points anymore." Lupin picked up the bottle and gave a 'What now, huh?' look at Snape, who took his plate and strode out the Great Hall at once. "Your parents would be proud of this, Harry. So, er, I guess this means I can postpone my departure for tomorrow morning then?"

"And we can go ahead with Sirius' plan for this evening, yep," said Harry, nodding. "Please make sure to drink that straight away." No sooner had Harry left the table than Lupin wolfed down his final dose of potion for this cycle.

"Ugh, why does it always have to be so bitter?"

"That... that was _Wolfsbane Potion_?" Hermione asked, covering her mouth in shock once Harry told of this morning's events. "But, how can Professor Snape be so irresponsibly spiteful?"

"Geez, Granger." Pansy rolled her eyes. "Haven't you been listening when Harry spoke of the past? And no, you won't find an explanation of that in _Hogwarts: A History_." Once again, they worked in silence for well over an hour... until Sirius rushed into the Great Hall. "Hey, why's your godfather-dearest carrying a tank full of sand around?"

"Wha—" Harry looked up and saw Sirius indeed carrying Lupin's Grindylow tank around, which was half-filled with sand and debris. "I don't even wanna know."

At that moment, an owl came swooping down to deliver a red envelope to Lupin... and Hermione gasped. "That's a Howler! Oh no, poor Professor Lupin!"

"Ex-Professor, you mean," said Pansy. "Wait, what the hell?" She (as well as Harry, Hermione, and some of the staff too) watched as Sirius ran to place the tank atop the Hufflepuff table. Then he quickly dumped the sizzling envelope into the sand and shut the tank, leaving the Howler to explode with its muffled yelling just about audible from within.

_"—filthy werewolf scum... teaching my children... danger to society—"_

"Did you hear something, Remus?" Sirius kicked the tank to slide further down the table, and then he went over to approach Harry's group. "Good afternoon Harry... and girlfriends."

Pansy beamed and shook Sirius' hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Black. Hey, Granger, at least pause your reading to greet the guy! Oh, I see... Miss Order of Merlin thinks she doesn't have to greet a fellow recipient, hmm?"

"So, Harry," said Sirius, "let's discuss our potential accommodation. Firstly, I'd prefer to be as far away from London as possible."

Hermione looked up from her book and narrowed her eyes. "What's your problem with London anyway? It's one of the best places for a Hogwarts student to live, especially if you're close enough to the Leaky Cauldron or King's Cross Station."

Sirius shot a wary look at Pansy before speaking. "Let's just say that my childhood home is hidden somewhere around there. And the only thing left of my 'family' is my deranged mother's portrait."

"I'd love to meet her, honestly," said Hermione, to which Sirius gave a sad little sigh.

"Let me put it to you this way, dear Hermione... My mother would far, _far_ prefer to have someone like this girl"—He pointed at Pansy—"within that house. Do you get what I'm saying? And she'd use all sorts of interesting language against someone of your blood status."

"Oh, I see..." Hermione nodded and looked at Pansy. "Well, go on then. Now's your chance to meet with Harry's godfather's mother."

"She sounds like a real bitch, sorry," said Pansy, to which Sirius smiled and took a seat opposite Harry.

"Strange being at Snivellus' table. Anyway, I was thinking of setting us up in Hogsmeade..." He dropped his gaze and looked noticeably disappointed. "But there's just one major problem: poor Moony. Now that Wormtail outed him like that, nobody in Hogsmeade would want him around. I mean, even if we shoved seven bottles of Wolfsbane Potion right in their faces each month, they'd still soil themselves in terror."

"So... what now?" Harry asked, feeling his excitement sinking. "Hogsmeade would've been brilliant to stay in, when I'm not needing to be at the Dursleys."

Sirius blinked. "What? I thought we could stay together all holidays?"

Harry felt terrible for mistrusting Pansy, due to her mother's previous allegiance, but he had to withhold the essential details from her here. "It's Professor Dumbledore's orders, Sirius. I have to spend a portion of my holidays at the Dursleys. No excuses."

"I still don't see why the Headmaster's forcing you to live like a Muggle," said Pansy, frowning. "You might as well just move in with Granger, while you're at it."

Hermione already knew of Harry's blood-protection enchantments; so she, too, kept things vague here. "I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has his own reasons."

Sirius stood up from his seat and promptly left the Great Hall.

"Poor man's totally disappointed," said Pansy, deliberately placing her elbow on Hermione's book while speaking. "It's stupid to have a godfather, and no parents, and not live with him."

Harry and Hermione carried on with their studying until Sirius eventually returned. "So, with all Dumbledore's things considered, how about I buy a house out in the countryside and share it with Remus? That way, he gets to live in something other than a shack, I get to have some company all the time, and you get to come over when your annual prison sentence is done."

"And how much coin do you have in the bank, Mister?" Pansy asked. "Houses ain't cheap, you know, even if converting to Pounds."

Hermione nodded. "You could end up needing around twenty thousand Galleons to convert! Why not simply go home?"

"My vault looks pretty shiny enough," said Sirius. "Heir to the Black fortune, remember? 'Misfortune', more like."

"And how much is 'pretty shiny enough'?" Pansy asked, rubbing her chin in thought. "Stop looking at me like that, Granger. I'm not a gold-digger or anything."

"You're the one who said it, not me," said Hermione, grinning.

"I'll sort things out on my side, all right? You just worry about finishing your holiday assignments and stuff." Sirius stood up and eventually joined Lupin on the way out the Great Hall.

For the rest of the afternoon, Harry tried getting through some of his assignments while inviting as many students as possible for tonight. Unfortunately, the vast majority of students vehemently declined... and they were certainly clear about it as well.

"You can tell that dirty beast to get the hell out of our school already," said a sixth-year Ravenclaw girl, while her friends murmured in agreement.

"No way, Potter. No way," said a fourth-year Hufflepuff boy. "Lupin was a great teacher, sure, but he's a fricken _werewolf_."

Of the one hundred and thirty or so students who'd remained at school over the Easter holidays, many frowned and shook their heads at Harry in the corridors. However, there was a select few who were quite keen on getting up close with a werewolf, irrespective of anyone else's opinions.

"Yeah, count me in!" Dean Thomas said, grinning in delight when Harry passed him on the fourth floor. "I can't wait to draw a werewolf, man. You think Lupin would sit still for just a bit?"

"I think I'll join in as well," said Seamus Finnigan. "Me mam said werewolves might come in the exams, especially the O.W.L.s. Might as well get the details down now already."

"Run around with a werewolf? Are you mental?" Ron and his siblings came down the corridor towards Harry. "Of course we'll join! And Ginny too!"

"What is this nonsense?" asked Percy Weasley, who just happened to be on his way to a nearby staircase. "If you so much as talk about playing with a werewolf, then I'll notify Mother in no time."

"Are you an idiot?" Fred glared at Percy. "This is a sane werewolf, man. SANE."

"Unlike you, Head Boy," muttered George, much to the others' amusement. "Come off it, Perce. We're joining the fun no matter what."

"Yeah, no matter what!" said Ginny, drawing herself up to her full little height. "Mum'll understand if Lupin's on the Wolfsbane."

Percy shot Harry a scathing look. "If any of them gets so much as a _scratch_, Harry Potter..."

"Don't you _dare_ threaten Harry," said Ginny, scowling. "Go kiss 'Penny' in the library or something, jerk."

Cho Chang also expressed interest in joining the crowd, as did Lavender and a few other students. All in all, Harry felt confident that Lupin was about to have a decent send-off tonight. And so the crowd now waited, studied, and did whatever they could to pass the time until dinner.

"I hope that monstrosity bites you, Potter," said a seventh-year Slytherin boy from further down the table. "And who the hell gave you permission to bring a Mudblood here earlier?"

"Oh, shut up and go jump on Draco's dong or something," said Pansy, causing Harry to snort on some soup while laughing. "Beat 'em with laughter, baby Potter. Oh, by the way, Mom said she'll torture, dismember, disembowel, and murder Lupin if I get injured by him tonight. Just thought you should know."

Roughly an hour after dinner, Harry and the rest gradually made their way out the castle. They were joined by some of the staff and spoke most enthusiastically in the Entrance Courtyard now. In fact, hardly anyone was bothered by the chilly temperatures tonight—they were far more excited to actually be out here at this hour... which explained the many students walking with picnic items.

Harry could hear McGonagall whispering to Dumbledore behind him. "... you sure about this? What will we say to their parents, and the Ministry, once they find out?"

"Minerva, all I see is a group of students looking to spend one last session with their former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

The skies were clear, the stars were out, and the moon shone its full light; a beautiful sight for many students making their way down the slopes. Everything was a relaxing hue of night now, and the group soon scattered about within the limits set by the staff.

"Nobody is to stray too far away for _any_ reason," said one of the prefects. "That means no creeping into the forest, no explicit activities, no kissing, etc. Stay where we can all see you."

Harry watched as some of the students, including Lavender and the Patils, began setting up their night-time picnics and brought out their treats. Speaking of which, it wasn't too long until Dumbledore brought out dozens of Easter eggs too, which came flying down the slopes in crates.

"Yes, that's what I'm talking about," Harry said, rubbing his hands in an almost Dudley-like manner. "Never enough sweets and treats these days."

"Here you go then," said Ginny, who hurried across the lawn to place an Easter egg in Harry's hand. "Mum'll send some of her own too, probably tomorrow."

Hermione leaned to whisper in Harry's ear. "Enjoy her before she grows up and kicks your arse in Quidditch." She saw the mischievous grin on Harry's face and slapped his shoulder. "You know what I mean!"

Hagrid was definitely in on the gathering too, and he soon exited his cabin with Fang at his side. "Now this is wha' I call a good start ter the Easter holidays!"

And then, finally, the students watched in amazement as Sirius and Lupin came racing each other down the slopes—in their transformed states. One was a bear-sized black dog; and the other hardly any different from a regular wolf, except for its tufted tail, pupil and snout shapes, as well as its slightly bulkier body.

"The way I see it," said Harry, speaking with toffee all over his mouth. "A werewolf on Wolfsbane is basically an involuntary Animagus then."

"That's... quite a nice way of looking at it, actually," said Hermione. "Let's have us a picnic of our own now!"

"So long as you don't study—" Pansy groaned as Hermione pulled out a blank book to write in. "What the heck are you doing?"

"It's not every night you get to hang out with a werewolf, you know," said Harry. "Better make your observations quick before Lupin sits still for Dean to sketch."

The evening had only just started, and Harry could tell that it was shaping up to be a brilliant time indeed. This was exactly what he'd hoped to set up tonight; a chance to show that not everyone was a hateful git out here.

"Wotcher, you! Hope I'm not too late. This'll be an excellent chance for some studies and observations."

Harry turned around and saw Tonks running down the slopes. "Oh great, it's the fuzz." But, in the end, he was obviously glad to have as many friendly faces surrounding Lupin as possible. All that remained was to sit back, relax, and have some fun as well.


	19. Wit Beyond Measure

Lupin's send-off had been a memorable, albeit short, night for sure. Some students took bets on races between Lupin and Sirius; others took to watching, drawing, or observing; and then there were those who were mostly outside for the novelty of picnicking beneath the stars. There were sweets and treats to enjoy and a lively atmosphere on the grounds throughout the evening. However, many students drew the line and kept to themselves once Harry suggested a sing-along of the school song.

"No way," said Fred, who—like many others—backed off as the group prepared themselves for action. It was mostly a mix of Hagrid, Harry, Hermione, Pansy (who kept her lovely voice in tune with Hermione's), Cho, Lavender, Ginny, Susan Bones, and a few older and younger students who sang:

_"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff..."_

"Wait, that's not true; I know my work—"

"Shhhh, Harry!" whispered Hermione.

_"...So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot."_

"Yeah, like Harry's," said Pansy, who plonked herself on the grass once their song had finished. "Say you like my singing voice, Granger. Say it!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sure, whatever floats your boat. And I do have a name, by the way."

"Of course you do. It's 'Granger'."

Next up, many students gathered around to watch some sort of tree-climbing race between Sirius and Lupin. The latter ended up winning, though, as Sirius fell down right at the end.

"Tough luck for godfather-dearest," said Pansy. "Hey, Granger, will you stop writing already?"

As the evening moved on, Susan Bones rallied Sirius and Lupin into having a game of 'dog-tag', which everyone watched and whistled in support. The dog and werewolf zipped their way across the grounds, and even Fang tried to join in at some point.

"Look at 'em go! And they say he just sits on his arse all day long, huh?" Hagrid boomed with applause. "Show 'em yeh mean business, Fang!"

Tonks added her bit by suggesting a mounted race, which Fred and George eagerly agreed upon. The former climbed onto Lupin's back while the latter got onto Sirius, and they immediately sped off from Hagrid's cabin all the way up to the castle's front steps.

"Cough up the coin," said George, once Sirius had come first.

"I reckon Moony's getting a bit worn down from his Potion now," said Fred, which was actually quite true. "Come on, Professor, just one more for the younger ones."

Next up was Harry against Ginny, with the former choosing Lupin and the latter going with Sirius. In this case, Lupin narrowly outpaced his bear-sized competitor in the end.

"Cough up the Easter egg," said Harry, as Ginny scowled in defeat. The rest of their evening was then spent wandering around until accompanying Lupin back to his office.

Hermione smiled as she and a few others watched the werewolf curl up at his desk. "Well, that was a really nice evening, I'd say."

"Man's probably hungry by now, I'd say," said Tonks, placing a hefty plate of meat on Lupin's desk. "I can put it on the floor too, if you don't find that offensive. Now eat up and get your rest; Sirius and I will escort you home tomorrow."

* * *

The third-years were given so much homework over the Easter holidays that Harry wasn't in the mood for anything else. He spent a great deal of the fortnight studying, working on his assignments, as well as making time for both Ginny and Cho's meetings. In addition, Dumbledore felt that Harry's Occlumency lessons were no longer a necessity, seeing as the Dementors were no longer in the vicinity. And as for Sirius' new accommodation, that turned out to be somewhere in Northumberland. But as one issue finally cleared up, a new—albeit lesser—one emerged over the Easter holidays.

"So," said Pansy, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her bed, "who's our next Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"Dunno," replied Harry. "Gonna be real hard to advertise the post this time, eh? I mean, it's always been one teacher a year, sure, but the real bad luck only picked up when we started."

Pansy nodded. "One got murdered, another lost his mind, and the latest got disgraced. Wonder who's next?" And then she waited, as did everyone else, until the end of the holidays. One thing was for sure, though: nobody wanted to go back to the standard of Quirrell and Lockhart again.

"If I have to suffer a third incompetent Defence teacher in three years," said Tracey, who returned with everyone else on Sunday, the 10th of April, "then I'll seriously consider leaving this school. One great teacher just won't cut it; I have a future to consider."

* * *

"A very good morning to you all!" said Professor Dumbledore at breakfast. "And to those who've spent their Easter holidays away from Hogwarts, welcome back! Now, a few important announcements and reminders before we get going...

"Firstly, the final Quidditch match of the season, Hufflepuff against Slytherin, will take place on Saturday, the 7th of May. Please practise well, play to your best, and—most importantly—enjoy the match!

"Secondly, all students—in addition to the fifth and seventh-years—should prepare for their upcoming examinations in June. All timetables will be distributed in due course, of course.

"And finally, allow me to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who'll be carrying on with Remus Lupin's outstanding work this year. Please welcome... Professor Alastor Moody!"

Whether it was curiosity, confusion, or outright fear, very few students actually clapped for the strange-looking wizard seated at the staff table. In fact, nearly the entire Great Hall was far more fixated on whispering and gawking at the man's appearance.

"Wasn't he that guy on the train?" Harry asked, and Pansy nodded.

"Mom says that creepy eye can see through things, including Invisibility Cloaks and the back of Moody's head. Makes it almost impossible to catch him in an ambush."

Sally-Anne gasped. "Wait, so he can see us all naked now? He'd better not be looking at my—"

"Oh, come off it," said Pansy, rolling her eyes. "Crazy man's been using that eye for so long that he doesn't care what we all look like. He's far more paranoid over keeping himself alive these days."

"I still don't like it." Sally-Anne shuddered and buttoned up her robes. "Perfect perv equipment."

Millicent frowned as she looked at the staff table; a fair distance on her right. "What the heck's he doing up there?"

Harry watched, curiously, as Moody withdrew his hip flask and placed it on the table. Then, the latter grabbed the nearest jug of pumpkin juice and started sniffing and casting spells over it. And finally, once his prolonged analysis was finished, Moody seemed satisfied and poured some of the juice into his flask.

"Checking for poisons," said Pansy, snorting. "And he won't drink out of anything except that flask. Probably thinks the goblets are smeared with toxins, curses, or whatever." She started writing a letter to her mother, who Harry knew was forever concerned over Pansy's education. "How do you spell that guy's name, now again? A-L-I-S-T-A-I-R..."

"Just write 'Mad-Eye' or 'Moody'; I'm sure your mum would understand," said Harry, before opening the Marauder's Map beneath the table. "Damn, there's so many dots in here; looks like ants! Ah, there's the man, it's A-L-A-S-T-O-R, not whatever you just wrote."

"Cool, thanks. Now put that thing away before somebody sees!"

Harry had the fleeting impression that Moody had indeed seen his map, as the latter's vivid, electric blue eye remained staring in his direction. "Too late for that; our new teacher's looking this way."

Pansy scoffed. "Not my fault if he confiscates it, then."

They had to wait for over a day until finally getting their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class with their new professor, on late Tuesday afternoon.

"You planning on sucking up to this teacher as well, Potter?" Nott asked, as the near-dozen Slytherins walked down the corridor. "Yeah, perfect opportunity I'd reckon. 'Famous Potter meets infamous ex-Auror.'"

"You tell 'em, Theo," said Zabini, while Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle glared in Harry's direction too. "Bet he'd love hearing more stories about his parents—"

"Shut up," said Pansy, plain and simple. "You should be the last one to talk about parents, Blaise."

Malfoy snorted. "Actually, Parkinson, _you_ should be the last one to talk about that in this class. What's that story about your mother fleeing for her life from Moody? And what happened to your father anyway? Maybe you ought to ask one of the old 'good guys' about him?"

Nott nodded in agreement. "Maybe one of Dumb-old-door's lackeys did him in?" He ceased his bickering upon reaching the classroom door, which was shut... for some reason. "The hell's going on? Don't tell me they're still busy in here?"

"We'll go check," said Crabbe, walking beside Goyle as they opened the door and squeezed their way in. But no sooner had they entered than the door suddenly shut behind them. Then, seconds later, Malfoy, Nott, and Zabini all followed suit... after which the door shut itself once again.

"This is so damn weird, man," said Pansy, glancing at Harry in the corridor. "Let's just go in together, or something." And so they entered, as a group of six, into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Harry had a nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right, and he instinctively reacted as a flash of light came their way. _"Protego!"_

"Finally, someone with brains," said Professor Moody, whose Knockback Jinx shattered the weak Shield Charm and threw Harry's group backwards. "Seven points to Slytherin, Potter."

"He didn't even block it properly!" said Nott, frowning while seated in the middle row of desks, with Malfoy and the boys.

Moody glared at them. "Better than you lot. If this was war, you'd all be lying in a ditch somewhere. Anyway... Potter, girls, get to your seats. Oh, and a word of advice: if you're entering a room as a unit, don't all look ahead like a herd of sheep."

Well, that was an interesting start to a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, and Harry quickly took the leftmost seat of the front row. The classroom looked pretty much the same as when Lupin had used it, so this was surely a sign of good things to come, right?

Moody took out a register and ordered each student to raise their hand when called. And he kept his normal eye on the list while his magical one swivelled around to fix upon the student in question. _"Bulstrode, Millicent... Crabbe, Vincent... Davis, Tracey... Goyle, Gregory... Greengrass, Daphne... Malfoy, Draco... Nott, Theodore... Parkinson, Pansy... Perks, Sally-Anne... Potter, Harry... Zabini, Blaise._ Class of eleven, eh?" He rolled up the register and shoved it into his pocket. "All you third to seventh-years average around a dozen or so per house. Does anyone know what that means?"

Zabini raised his hand. "Our classes are small?"

"A first-year could've answered better than that. Think. Use your brains, people. I don't care if this is your last class of the day." Moody waited for a good few minutes, until it was Daphne who raised a slightly trembling hand. "Greengrass, is it? Speak."

"Um, well, You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters did do a lot of damage over the past few decades..." She shot a quick, apologetic look at Harry for having brought this up.

"Three points to Slytherin, Greengrass. Exactly. If not for that murdering Dark wizard and his minions... who knows?" Moody surveyed the classroom, as if imagining a few more desks being filled. "We might've had some McKinnons, some Prewetts, some more Longbottoms—" His magical eye fixed upon Malfoy and friends. "Think that's funny, do you? They're worth ten times your sorry excuse for parents, laddie."

"Oh really?" Malfoy asked, scowling.

"Let's see..." Moody fixed both his eyes on Malfoy. "There's a load of good guesswork that your grandfather cursed Nobby Leach, the first Muggle-born Minister for Magic..."

"All rumours; no facts," said Nott, to which Malfoy and the others smirked. "You should choose your words more carefully, Professor."

"And as for Abraxas' son, well..." Moody frowned; a scary sight for sure. "Nothing more than a coward who pays and worms his way out of trouble."

Malfoy stood up and looked around. "Don't you dare talk about my father like that! And what about Parkinson's mother, huh? She 'wormed' her way out of Azkaban as well!"

Pansy was about to swear at Malfoy but was interrupted by Moody. "Perhaps, but that's a typical Malfoy-move right there; dragging down others to whitewash yourselves. Now sit down before I make you wash the corridors like a Muggle in detention, _Malfoy_."

"My father—"

"Here's a word of advice," said Moody, his tone growing dangerously loud. "GROW YOUR OWN DAMN BRAIN!" He moved his magical eye to see Harry and the girls sniggering. "Let's see who's still laughing after this: a quick test to assess your competence in Lupin's curriculum."

"The filthy werewolf's—ouch!" Nott got a long piece of chalk thrown at his face.

"Next idiot to insult my friend will end up in detention... or be used as target practice for our practical work." Moody distributed their parchments and gave the class fifteen minutes to answer as many questions as they could, which included anything from Red Caps to werewolves. "Make it quick; I prefer a more practical approach."

The constant clunks of Moody's pacing proved to be fairly distracting, but the students soon grew accustomed to it and ploughed through their papers. Fifteen minutes was a ridiculously short amount of time to get through everything, so the common tactic was to blitz through whatever each student knew best. For Harry, this turned out to be almost everything, really.

"Time's up! Give me those papers already so I can mark. I hate marking." Moody's eyes were almost blurred as he sat checking through the students' work, at his desk. "Not bad... for fifteen minutes. All right, common sense dictates that I don't need to repeat, revise, or do anything further in my predecessor's plans for this year. You've all got a fairly good understanding of those Dark creatures already. What I'm far more interested in is bringing you all up to scratch on interpersonal conflict, over the next few years or so."

Zabini raised his hand. "Professor, nobody's kept your post for longer than three terms at a time since, er, forever."

"They say this post might be cursed, well, do you know what I think?" Moody gestured a middle finger to the air. "A steady dose of CONSTANT VIGILANCE can beat almost anything! See what I wrote on the board?"

"That's yesterday's date, sir," said Sally-Anne, seated behind Harry.

"Exactly! So let's see what happens in three hundred and sixty-five days from then. But, for now, we have a curriculum to get through until the next 11th of April, and beyond. So, let's get straight into the basics then... It seems that Potter's the only one who can cast a somewhat decent Shield Charm in this class."

"So?" asked Malfoy, clearly envious as usual. "Who cares?"

"Think about that when you're in a ditch someday," replied Moody. "Now, I don't really expect any of you to master _Protego_ at your age, but here's a bit of encouragement: some in the Ministry can't even do a decent Shield Charm. And here's a tip: I'd suggest practising until you're capable of blocking at least one decent hex, or a minor curse..."

"That's an exam tip!" whispered Pansy to Harry, and the latter could've sworn he saw Moody give a little nod right then.

"Now pay attention! Casting spells takes far more than just practising against walls. You've got to _know_ the theory behind what you're doing. Don't believe me? Just ask Dumbledore." The rest of the lesson was spent listening to Moody's explanation of the Shield Charm as well as practising it, which very few could actually manage. "When do I get this class again? Where's my timetable?"

Millicent spoke while packing her bag at her desk. "Tomorrow after lunch, sir."

"Then you need to be PREPARED for tomorrow after lunch!"

The Slytherins exited their class in high spirits—except for Malfoy's group, who remained seething over Moody's insults. It was an annoying walk to the Great Hall now for Harry, who was stuck listening to the boys' rants over and over again. "Geez, guys, shut up already."

"Yeah," said Daphne, putting an ornamental butterfly into her hair while walking. "Just keep quiet and appreciate the fact that we're not back to Quirrell or Lockhart standards again."

"Blame the stupid 'Headmaster' for that—" Nott hurried down the corridor as Harry glared at him.

"What a loser," said Pansy. "So, little Monsieur, how about practising some Shield Charm stuff after dinner?"

Harry nodded. "Sounds like a plan, Mademoiselle."

They practised every evening of the week, in the comfort of their dormitory. Pansy got her Shield Charm going but struggled to maintain it long enough for practical purposes, while Daphne struggled to get hers going but kept it steady for a few crucial seconds. Then there were Millicent and Tracey, both of whom varied between weak and flickering Shield Charms—neither of which were acceptable enough for a duel. And finally, Sally-Anne managed to just about outperform Harry's weak Shield Charm by the end of the week.

In addition to his new Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum, Harry also prepared himself for the upcoming Quidditch final against Hufflepuff. This included organising a batch of Nimbus Two Thousands for his team, practising with them, and reviewing their tactics on a bi-weekly basis. The weeks moved on, the tuition sessions continued, and everything appeared to be advancing at a steady pace, until Harry suffered one major hiccup...

"Yes, you can have your Firebolt back," said Snape, seated in his office in early May. "I'd suggest keeping it at beside and imagining yourself playing in that final, Potter. And don't even _think_ about running to Black for help. Students who assault their Heads of House, or any member of the staff, shouldn't have a place on their house team. Try again next season, Potter."

Well, that was it. Harry had no hope of joining Marcus Flint and the rest in their match on Saturday now. He tried approaching some of the other staff for assistance, but even they couldn't overrule Snape's decision. And as for Dumbledore... Harry didn't wish to bother the big boss with such petty issues. The Headmaster had enough to deal with at the moment, including the ongoing Order of Merlin appeal—among other issues.

"HE DID WHAT? Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Naturally, Sirius was furious as hell when Harry firecalled him on Friday afternoon, in the Slytherin common room. "Listen, I'm coming up there to have a word with that greasy-haired pig—"

"Just leave it, man. I don't even care anymore." Harry, somehow, managed to convince Sirius to stay at home and avoid causing a scene with Snape. "... I'll probably use this time to prepare for the exams and stuff."

Sirius' anger was shared by Flint, who remained highly indignant at Snape's treatment of Harry. "Man needs to grow some stones, I'd say. We're a much stronger team with you, Potter, but let's just see what happens."

"And what if you don't win the Cup?" Harry asked, to which Flint sighed.

"We'll do our best, man."

* * *

Saturday, the 7th, was marked by a surge of excitement, dread, anxiety, and all sorts of emotions in the lead-up to the final. This was due to the log being in almost anyone's favour, really, as it had Ravenclaw on six hundred and seventy, Gryffindor on five hundred and seventy (no hope here), Hufflepuff on three hundred and eighty, and Slytherin on three hundred and forty. And such was the desperation that Flint resorted to one more session of begging on his knees in Snape's office...

"... we need to keep that win-streak going—"

"POTTER IS NOT THE ONLY PLAYER ON THIS TEAM, FLINT!"

Meanwhile, Harry wasn't in the mood to watch the game which he ought to have been playing, so he spent the entire morning toiling through his History of Magic assignment, as well as finishing Trelawney's homework in the library. He could just about hear the booming crowd in the distance, but not Lee Jordan's commentary.

"Good to see you're prioritising your life, Harry," whispered Hermione nearby. She, too, had been reading and writing non-stop since after breakfast. "If you ask me, Professor Snape's bound to suffer for his everlasting grudges at some point."

It must've been around one and a half hours later when the distant crowd paused and then, suddenly, erupted in cheer. The match was probably over, which meant that either the Snitch was caught or both captains agreed to terminate the game; the latter being all but impossible, in Harry's opinion. He therefore stashed away his work, walked past Hermione on the way out the library, and hurried down to the first-floor balcony, which overlooked the Entrance Hall.

The doors soon opened as a lone, blonde figure strolled in, with a smile on her face. She was a second-year, if Harry recalled correctly, who was covered in Ravenclaw decorations today... right up to the eagle hat on her head. "Oh, you must be Harry Potter."

Harry recognised the odd girl at once, seeing as Pansy's gang occasionally joked about her at times. "Er, yeah, pleased to meet you, Luna Lovegood." He saw her blink in surprise at being known. "So, how'd the final go?"

"It was very interesting, to be honest. Slytherin played quite well, even without you."

_Man, that hurts._ Harry took the truth like a champ and carried on listening, as Luna continued speaking while standing in the Entrance Hall.

"Your team scored loads of goals, but they were still playing catch-up to us." Luna paused to have a look at the house-point hourglasses before continuing. "Hufflepuff were struggling overall, and they only scored a bit in response. But, neither team was close enough to what they needed to achieve before going after the Snitch. If you ask me, I'd say the Wrackspurts did a good job on Hufflepuff today."

"The what?"

"They're invisible and float in through your ears to make your brain go all fuzzy." Luna crossed her arms and nodded. "But, anyway, that was a brilliant final to watch!" She beamed and made her way into the Great Hall, leaving Harry totally confused.

Next to enter was a half dejected, half surprised Team Slytherin—which comprised Flint, Yasmin, Warrington, Bletchley, Bole, Tiffany (a medium-built, stern-looking fifth-year), and Higgs.

"... crazy in love, I tell you," said Higgs, who then looked up and saw Harry on the balcony. "You probably skipped watching the match, eh? Can't blame you."

Flint was in total disbelief. "Strangest one I've ever been in, Potter, and that's saying something. Warrington, explain."

Warrington was just about to enter the Great Hall when he turned around and frowned. "You should've seen that madness go down, Potter, really. We were slaughtering Hufflepuff to the hoops; scoring at basically twice their rate and stuff. Hey, Shafiq, explain. I'm starving."

"Why must I—ugh, fine." Yasmin stayed behind as the rest of the team made their way into the Great Hall, while Harry ran down the marble staircase to approach Yasmin. "You'd've been confused too, little guy. The Hufflepuffs were struggling to get past fifty while we were, like, getting over a hundred by then. You remember the overall standings right?"

Harry nodded.

"So you'd know that they needed to be on at least a hundred and fifty before getting the Snitch, and we needed to be on a hundred and ninety for our chance." Yasmin took Harry into the Great Hall, as the sounds of hundreds of students could be heard coming through the courtyard outside. "The Snitch was spotted a couple times, yeah, but neither Seeker really went for it yet. And all the while, we were scoring and scoring... probably reached a hundred and ten or so when the Snitch was spotted again."

"And Hufflepuff were on...?"

"Forty or so by then," said Yasmin, heading towards the Slytherin table. "Yeah, they were pretty much beaten in the Quaffle department already. No hope of reaching their target. But then, all of a sudden, Cedric just went for the Snitch... never mind that he was over a hundred points from his target. Higgs gave chase too, in order to keep Cedric at bay, of course." She looked around and saw that there were less than a dozen students in the Great Hall. "We kept trying to score, and Higgs did his best to stall the Snitch-chase; but, in the end, Cedric narrowly edged past him and caught it."

Higgs added his bit too. "It's hard chasing a Snitch when you know you can't get it yet. Not my fault! But Diggory wanted it bad, man. I think he knew Hufflepuff couldn't win—"

"—and so he did the next best thing," said Bole, helping himself to some lunch. "Make his girlfriend's team win the Cup, so our match ended on two-ten to one-thirty. If only we had more time to score, man. Just six more goals and Higgs could've gone all out."

Higgs sighed. "Sorry, guys. Diggory was a nightmare in the air. And there goes our Quidditch Cup win-streak down the drain."

Flint stabbed a piece of sausage, with his fork, and scoffed. "Snape could have a Cupless office for the first time in years now. Did you guys see the hourglasses outside? No? Well, er, damn... what were they, again?"

Luna, who faced the Slytherin table from her seat, responded in her usual tone. "Gryffindor's in the lead; you're second."

"Who's this chick?" Flint gave a hilariously confused look at his housemates. "Yeah, enjoy that Quidditch Cup until next season, Ravenclaw."

Harry pondered the house-point totals now, as he knew how they calculated the Quidditch contribution towards them. Firstly, any points accumulated by goals were divided by three, at the end of the match. For example, a team that scored ten goals would total one hundred on the scoreboard, and this would add thirty-three to the hourglass points. Then, whoever caught the Golden Snitch would automatically earn their team another fifty house-points. It wasn't that hard to understand, really.

"Funny how Gryffindor are in the lead, eh?" Yasmin asked, as she poured some pumpkin juice into Harry's goblet. "What you scribbling there?"

Harry ignored the influx of celebrations (including Cedric Diggory being called an 'Honorary Ravenclaw') in the Great Hall and, instead, focused on his calculations here. He worked out each and every Quidditch game and how they factored into the House Cup, which ended up being:

_Ravenclaw: 224_

_Hufflepuff: 197_

_Gryffindor: 190_

_Slytherin: 156_

This wasn't the Quidditch Cup standings; it was their impact towards the hourglasses in the Entrance Hall. But, in addition to this, Harry knew there were countless non-Quidditch activities which also contributed towards the current house-point standings. "Yeah," he said, eyeing his work. "This is a lot different compared to the hourglasses."

Yasmin smiled. "Nice, but, you didn't have to go all 'little-genius' on me here. I already wrote down the house-points outside..." And she then pulled out a piece of parchment which read:

_Gryffindor: 542_

_Slytherin: 521_

_Ravenclaw: 388_

_Hufflepuff: 289_

"It's the one-hundred-and-fifty point bonus Hermione and I got for catching Wormtail that's working hard here," Harry said, to which a few passerby Slytherins had overheard.

"What's that? House-point talk?" A fourth-year boy looked over Harry's shoulder. "Go back to your side of the table, Potter. You just _had_ to take that filthy Mudblood with you on your grand adventure, huh?"

A sixth-year girl agreed. "Should've taken one of our own instead of a Mudblood, not to mention a Gryffindor! Hey, what you doing there, Prefect?"

Yasmin waved her wand and replaced the '521' on her parchment with '501'. "Might as well update it, because I'm taking ten points from each of you for using that foul, hateful 'M' word. Keep talking and it'll be detention as well. Oh, and Harry can sit wherever the hell he wants; it's as much his table as it is ours."

Harry smiled and enjoyed his lunch. It always brought a soothing feeling whenever another student genuinely stood up for him. "Thanks."

"That's why I got this badge, laddie."

* * *

The euphoria of anyone associated with Ravenclaw House continued throughout the rest of the week, if not more. Blue and bronze became more noticeable than ever these days, as the Ravenclaws donned whatever clothing and accessories they had. Warmer weather? No problem. The Ravenclaws simply switched their gear in accordance to the change in weather. In addition, quite a few students began spreading rumours of an increase in snogging and affection between Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory.

"Is that kissing-thing true?" Harry asked, as he spent another evening in the company of his tutor.

"Well, when you reach my level, youngster, then you learn to show appreciation where it's earned." Cho turned a slight shade of red as she spoke. "Cedric made the gallant decision of fighting for _my_ team's victory, so he deserves a bit more love from his girl. Are you jealous?"

Harry smiled. "Nah, you just said I'm not on your level anyway."

And so, with the Quidditch season finally over, everyone shifted their focus towards the upcoming examinations—especially as May neared its end. Tuition picked up, panic ensued, scam products were on the rise, and the whole castle simply felt more academic... if that even made sense.


	20. Exams and Predictions

_June, 1994._

The first and foremost priority for Harry and some of his roommates was Pansy's upcoming birthday, on the 6th. This usually involved a fair bit of planning for their feisty friend.

"So, guys, what's the plan for Princess Parkinson?" Harry asked, completely overlooking someone else's birthday—on the 5th. "And before anyone asks, I'm doing eff all for Malfoy this year. We're done."

"She's _your_ cousin, Daphne," said Sally-Anne, seated against the foot of her bed. "So that puts you in charge of birthday prep yet again."

Daphne finished her nail-polishing and rubbed her chin in thought. "Hmm... I say we do the crown thing from first year. Pansy really liked that. Oh, and how about we all get not-too-big gifts? 'Cos I'm thinking we should hide them in the corner somewhere."

"This is a circular room," said Millicent, while stroking her cat, Spooky. "See any corners?"

"You know what I mean, silly!" Daphne shut her mini-manicure kit. "Right-o, Millicent, you ought to get something for Pansy to wear... preferably for summer. Tracey—Hey, leave the exam studies for a moment! You should get something for Pansy's hair."

"Make it quick; exams start on Monday, remember?" Tracey barely looked up from her Charms textbook. "Okay, hair, got it."

"Good, and don't you _dare_ buy some cheap-shit crap for my cuzzy," said Daphne, giving one of her rarely seen glares at Tracey. "Now that that's sorted, I'll get Pansy a new telescope; she always likes that. Sally-Anne, you should get her a teen-romance book for the holidays. And lastly, Harry will splash the cash and get her a nice, fancy necklace, OK?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, yeah, and we'll sing her happy birthday and all that stuff."

"Better make it good," said Daphne, her expression fiercely stern while surveying her roommates. "It's not Pansy's fault her birthday's always on or near the exams."

* * *

The skies were clear and the weather was comfortably warm on Monday morning; signs of a good week ahead, perhaps? Regardless, Harry and four of his roommates awoke early enough to prepare everything on schedule, which was just in time as Pansy finally got out of bed. She stretched out, opened her curtains, and went straight to her bathroom. Then, once she'd freshened up, Pansy walked right into a hug from Daphne in the dormitory.

"Happy birthday, cuzzy!"

"Where's my song?" Pansy asked. "And my presents, huh? You call this a birthday? Come, sing for the princess."

Millicent raised a brow. "I thought you were the queen?"

"No, that's Mom. Now sing." Pansy crossed her arms and listened to her gang, including Harry, sing their birthday song for her. It was a fairly nice, well-rehearsed tune which went on for almost a minute... until Pansy finally nodded. "Seven out of ten for this year. Not bad. Presents?"

"Go find them," said Harry. "But first..." He pulled out a replica crown from his drawer and placed it upon Pansy's head. "I crown thee Princess Parkinson for today."

"Thank you, Prince Potter."

"Weirdoes," muttered Tracey, sniggering behind her book. "Your presents are somewhere in this room, _Princess_. Maybe try a checking a... corner? Hehehe."

"Ohhhhh, such a marvellous plan..." Pansy looked highly amused as she pulled out her wand. _"Accio Tracey's birthday gift!"_

Harry groaned as a box of three Sleekeazy's Hair Potions came soaring out from beneath his bedcovers. "I knew she'd do that! How boring."

Pansy eyed the box and smiled. "Excellent! I've been hoping for some of these again. OK... _Accio Millicent's birthday gift!_" One by one, she summoned and inspected each of her friends' gifts—all of which were well-appreciated this year. "Thanks a lot, Millicent! This'll look great when I'm blending in with the Muggles in town. A telescope, cuzzy? You shouldn't have! Sally-Anne, I hate this book."

"What?"

"Just kidding." Pansy placed the book neatly in her trunk. "And as for you and your necklace, Harry... _t'es mon ange_!"

Harry had no idea what Pansy just said, so he simply nodded and accepted her warm hug. "Cool, no problem."

"No offence, birthday-girl-who-speaks-a-bit-of-French, but it's already breakfast now," said Tracey.

"Oh, all right." Pansy took off her crown and placed it on Harry's dresser. "Transfiguration and Charms today, huh? Let's get this show on the road."

Nobody said a word at breakfast. They were far too preoccupied with cramming in as much food and studies as possible here. Then, once the bell finally rang, the third-years made their way across the Entrance Hall and into the corridor ahead. And it wasn't too long until they all sat along the cloister surrounding the Middle Courtyard, outside their Transfiguration class.

"Looks like she's taking us by surname and house," said Lavender Brown, standing at a note pinned beside the classroom door. "Let's see..."

"Get out the way; I wanna see when I'm going!" Ron nudged Lavender aside to view the lengthy note. "Wow, sucks to be in Slytherin now..."

_ **Third-Year Examination** _

_ **Gryffindor:** _

_1\. Brown, Lavender_

_2\. Dunbar, Fay_

_3\. Finnigan, Seamus_

_4\. Granger, Hermione_

_5\. Longbottom, Neville_

_6\. Malone, Roger_

_7\. Midgen, Eloise_

_8\. Patil, Parvati_

_9\. Thomas, Dean_

_10\. Weasley, Ronald_

_ **Hufflepuff:** _

_11\. Abbot, Hannah_

_12\. Bones, Susan_

_13\. Finch-Fletchley, Justin_

_14\. Hopkins, Wayne_

_15\. Jones, Megan_

_16\. Macmillan, Ernest_

_17\. Moon, Lily_

_18\. Rivers, Oliver_

_19\. Roper, Sophie_

_20\. Smith, Zacharias_

_ **Ravenclaw:** _

_21\. Boot, Terry_

_22\. Brocklehurst, Mandy_

_23\. Corner, Michael_

_24\. Cornfoot, Stephen_

_25\. Entwhistle, Kevin_

_26\. Goldstein, Anthony_

_27\. Li, Su_

_28\. MacDougal, Morag_

_29\. Patil, Padma_

_30\. Turpin, Lisa_

_ **Slytherin:** _

_31\. Bulstrode, Millicent_

_32\. Crabbe, Vincent_

_33\. Davis, Tracey_

_34\. Goyle, Gregory_

_35\. Greengrass, Daphne_

_36\. Malfoy, Draco_

_37\. Nott, Theodore_

_38\. Parkinson, Pansy_

_39\. Perks, Sally-Anne_

_40\. Potter, Harry_

_41\. Zabini, Blaise_

"This is blatant house-discrimination!" said Nott, seething as he stood behind Ron. "So much for being a professional professor."

Padma Patil looked up from her book, while seated on the ground nearby. "It's purely alphabetical, OK? Now be quiet so we can all study!"

"'Purely alphabetical' would've taken only surnames into account," said Zabini, once Nott rejoined their group.

One of the Hufflepuffs, Oliver Rivers, sniggered from his side of the cloister. "Not like that would've made a difference for you, Zabini."

"I wish it was only surnames," muttered Neville Longbottom, his hands trembling on his textbook now. "I'm going in fifth; g-going in fifth..."

"Wish me luck," said Seamus Finnigan. "I'll set the bar for us lads. What? Why you laughing at me, Dean?"

"Then I guess we're all gonna pass with flying colours."

"Shut up," said Seamus.

The door opened to reveal Professor McGonagall, who stood reading from her own scroll of parchment in hand. "Brown, Dunbar, Finnigan, and Granger... And as for the rest of you, I'd recommend putting away those books and wands from here on out. Last-minute cramming tends to addle the mind."

Two hours later, the final group of students trooped into the classroom for their Transfiguration exam. Here, Harry breezed past the first few cubicles (each containing a separate task) before taking his time with the final one, which involved turning a teapot into a tortoise. It wasn't too difficult, really, especially considering the amount of practice he'd had with Cho.

After a hasty lunch, the third-years went upstairs for Flitwick's exam... which ended up focusing on Cheering Charms. This was no problem for Harry and his roommates, all of whom sat down for a cheerful dinner later on.

"My exam went absolutely perfect," said Tracey, eyeing her wand with pride. "Then again, Ollivander did say black walnut tends to favour charmwork."

Sally-Anne rolled her eyes. "Don't act like you didn't have to study. It's not all about the wand, you know."

The rest of their evening was spent celebrating Pansy's birthday even more, which basically involved her lording over everyone in their dormitory. Pansy placed the replica crown upon her head, ordered her 'subjects' to organise food from the kitchens, and enjoyed a lengthy foot massage from Harry while studying for her upcoming exams.

"Good servant," said Pansy, patting Harry on the head. "Now go ahead and continue your studies for tomorrow."

Harry kissed her feet. "Thank you, Your Birthday Highness."

First on Tuesday was Hagrid's exam, which took place near the Forbidden Forest. "Seein' as yeh lot add up ter make twenty-six, and tha' there's a dozen Hippogriffs, yeh'll be splittin' into groups of two. The extras can join in wherever." Hagrid randomly scattered everyone into twelve groups; each facing a separate Hippogriff at the forest entrance. "All righ' then, one student per time. Just remember wha' yeh learnt from our lessons an' yeh'll do jus' fine. An' no foolish behaviour from any one of yeh... go' it?" He shot a warning look at Malfoy, who responded:

"And what constitutes a pass in this exam? Do you expect us all to hop on and fly around the school, or something?"

Hagrid smiled. "A pass would be making it just over halfway ter the Hippogriff... an' without it gettin' hostile an' stuff. Anythin' beyond tha' would be extra marks towards a higher score."

Given that he stood in line behind Hermione Granger, Harry pondered the 'random' aspect of Hagrid's pairing-up today.

"Got Eagle-Eye, have yeh?" Hagrid whispered, as he walked past Harry. "A bit less temperamental than Buckbeak over there—"

"Hagrid!" Hermione whispered through clenched teeth. "You'll get us all in trouble if someone catches you dishing out tips!"

"Wha's tha', Hermione?" Hagrid asked, now walking away. "Don' be afraid; they won' hurt yeh unless yeh do summat totally stupid."

Harry looked to his left and saw a nervous Susan Bones approaching her Hippogriff, while Vincent Crabbe looked as confused as ever. And to Harry's right, Lavender Brown allowed Buckbeak to make the first move, while Lily Moon and Stephen Cornfoot waited in line.

"So, which one of us is going first?" Harry asked, standing beside Hermione. "I wouldn't mind getting the chance to ride you—er, I mean the Hippogriff!"

"We might as well do it alphabetically in an exam," said Hermione, seemingly ignoring Harry's 'slip of the tongue'.

To everyone's surprise, nobody ended up getting attacked after all. Some students, including Harry and Hermione, managed to earn a perfect score by flying their Hippogriff around the grounds. Then there were others who did quite well too, although they only got as far as patting their Hippogriff before being warned to back off. And as for the rest, including Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and a few others, they managed to earn a decent pass by getting within a metre or two from their target.

"Well done, all! Er, I mean... yeh can 'spect yeh results at the end of the year."

Harry barely had time to chat with Hermione as they climbed the sloping lawns. "Listen, I'd like to know how you're taking some of your exams simulta—Wait! Don't walk away from me... please?" He sighed as Hermione rushed back up to the castle.

"Shame," said Lavender Brown, passing Harry on the slopes. "Well, if it makes you feel any better... I'll give you something to think about. Hey, Parvati, should we tell Harry about what we know?"

Parvati looked puzzled as she arrived to walk beside her roommate. "Er, what do we know?"

"That Hermione always keeps her armpits smooth and clean," said Lavender, tilting her head. "So there you go, Harry. Something for you to think about while doing what all boys do: picturing us girls naked."

"I don't get it," said Harry, and Parvati nudged him in the side.

"If your crush loves keeping so smooth and clean on top, what about the bottom? Something to help your imagination!" And with that, both girls laughed while heading back up to the castle.

Potions came in the afternoon, and Harry did the one thing he knew Snape couldn't be a git about: perform well in his work. It was sheer luck that the exam ended up being on the Confusing Concoction; something which Harry had practised time and again this year. And it was pure joy to see Snape being forced to scribble a high mark for Harry's deftly prepared brew, once the latter had finally finished.

The third-years had their Astronomy examination around midnight. This meant bringing along extra clothes and scarves for the near-freezing temperatures up on the tallest tower of the castle, where many students shivered while toiling away at their exam.

On Wednesday morning, History of Magic turned out to be the complete opposite of Astronomy. It was a stifling hot session of writing whilst battling heat exhaustion in Binns' classroom, not to mention the dreariness of elaborating on medieval witch-hunts, among other things. Then came lunch, followed by yet another scorching examination: Herbology.

"Just two more to go!" said Pansy in her dormitory that night. "Harry, come here and lemme rub some paste on that neck of yours. It's totally sunburned from the greenhouse."

On Thursday morning after breakfast, the third-years gathered under the baking sun in the castle's grounds—where Professor Moody constructed some sort of obstacle course (as per Lupin's plans). This included a Grindylow-infested pool, a few potholes containing some Red Caps, a dimly lit marsh with a misleading Hinkypunk, and an old trunk right at the end... likely containing a Boggart.

"All right," said Moody, approaching the forty-one students. "I want all of you back up that slope and waiting in the courtyard. A glimpse of the course is all you're getting for now, until you're called."

The students did as ordered and returned to the Entrance Courtyard, where Prefect Shafiq was sitting on a bench. "There's a list on the wall, in case any of you missed it earlier. Nobody is to leave this courtyard unless called. Is that clear?"

Zabini sat down. "Ah, at least this means we get the most time to study, eh, Theo?"

"That course is as good as aced, in my opinion," replied Nott, pulling out his textbook and practising some wand movements.

Minutes passed by until Yasmin suddenly smiled, her blue eyes full of amusement now. "Ahem, first to go will be"—She gestured for Lavender to sit down—"numbers forty-one, thirty-seven, and sixteen."

"WHAT?" Everyone turned to gawk at the grinning prefect.

"The baddies out there won't be reading from a list of names and spells to attack. As Professor Moody often says... YOU NEED TO BE PREPARED! So, take a look at your numbers and get going already."

"This is unfair!" said Nott, while Zabini wholeheartedly agreed.

"Quit complaining already," said Ernie Macmillan, as he packed his bag and walked out the courtyard. "Let's go, you two."

More minutes passed by, and Harry got so bored of waiting that he took to begging on his knees before his favourite prefect. "Can I go next? Pretty please?"

"Uh-uh-uh." Yasmin was thoroughly enjoying herself now, by keeping the younger students on their toes. "Next... numbers twenty-five, eight, and seventeen. And remember: anyone who gives any hints on their way back will have their scores slashed in half."

Nott eventually returned from his examination, and he immediately glared at Yasmin while passing through the courtyard. "That was a blatantly foul move, 'Prefect'. You did that on purpose after overhearing us!"

"So?" asked Yasmin, raising her brows. "Get back inside or go somewhere else, please."

"Go back to that stupid desert where you came from," said Nott.

Yasmin crossed her arms. "Judging by your egregious anger, I take it the exam didn't go as planned? You should focus more on your studies and less on thinking up insults." Then she muttered something, in a foreign language, which nobody here understood. "That means you're a donkey, Nott."

_He kinda looks like one, _thought Harry.

"Shouldn't you be docking points?" asked Su Li, a girl who, in Harry's opinion, vaguely resembled Cho Chang. "He insulted your homeland, Prefect."

"Yes, but, I'm still trying to win the House Cup after all," said Yasmin, flashing her white, even teeth while smiling. "Say, does anyone have something to drink? I'd appreciate the generosity."

Harry rummaged through his bag and could hardly believe his luck as he withdrew a bottle of orange juice. "Can I go next, almighty Prefect?"

"Anyone got any snacks?" Yasmin asked, to which Harry pulled out a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans from his bag. "OK, you're up next then, Harry. Persistent little laddie, aren't you?"

Malfoy frowned. "If my father heard about this blatant bribery—"

"He'd feel right at home then," said Yasmin, ignoring the few complaints as she accepted Harry's offer. Then she drew her wand and cast some unknown, non-verbal spell at the box of beans. "What you all looking at? It's a spell I learnt from my mum. Pretty much clears away the stuff I shouldn't be eating and cleans the rest. Wicked, huh?"

"Wait," said Lily Moon, turning so fast that her light-brown hair whipped Hannah Abbot in the face. "What if someone gave you, like, Chocolate Cauldrons as a gift? They tend to have Firewhisky in them, don't they?"

Yasmin smiled. "Same spell; same results. I'll just vanish all traces of whisky and clean the rest of the stuff too. That'd leave me with a nice, yummy set of Chocolate Cauldrons to enjoy. Any more questions for the 'desert girl'?"

Zabini passed by the group and overheard their discussion. "Yeah. Got any arranged marriages coming up? Is the guy three, four, or five times your age?"

"Hilarious," said Yasmin, rolling her eyes. "You should be talking last about marriages, Zabini. What's that story about your mum—" She snorted as Zabini practically fled into the castle. "So, does anyone have any proper, well-thought-out questions? You know, the kind that requires the use of a functioning brain?"

Anthony Goldstein, seated in a corner of the courtyard, raised his hand. "How do you manage all your work, meals, classes, etc. while also keeping up with your, er, 'personal' stuff?"

"I've got enough time, yep. Speaking of which, we'd better not keep Professor Moody waiting. Next up will be numbers thirty-six, four, and forty. On your feet, children."

Harry thanked his favourite prefect and made his way down the slopes, alongside Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. "What's your problem now?"

"Walking too close to _this_ thing," said Malfoy, distancing himself from Hermione. "I hope she sinks in the marsh where she belongs; there's mud in there, you know." And he soon made his way towards the obstacle course, which he ended up completing fairly well. "Too easy, really."

"Really? Well, let's test your Shield Charm, then." Moody fired a non-verbal Full Body-Bind Curse which shattered Malfoy's shield. "Still standing. This would count as a pass, I suppose."

Malfoy looked as smug as ever, and he therefore chose to watch the next two go at it. "The Dementors send their love, Potter."

"Shut up," said Moody. "One more word during another student's exam and I'll be deducting marks. Potter, you're up next. Expect an attack at any moment from here on out."

Harry had no problems in dealing with this course, not even as Moody fired a Full Body-Bind Curse during the Hinkypunk section. After that, it was quite routine as Harry climbed into the trunk and banished his Boggart-Dementor in the spacious room within.

"Excellent!" said Moody, once Harry exited the trunk. "Granger, you're the last of this group."

Hermione performed to her usual, perfect standards until screaming as she exited the trunk. "P-Professor McGonagall! Sh-she said I failed every single one of my subjects!"

Malfoy burst out laughing. "It's only a Boggart, you stupid Mudblood! Wait until the whole school hears about how brainless you truly are! Just give up and quit your sorry excuse of an exam already."

"Professor," said Harry, seething with rage. "You haven't tested Hermione on her Shield Charm yet, have you?"

Moody ordered the tearful Hermione to sit aside for a time-out. "No, why do you ask?"

"Because, technically, that would mean Hermione's examination hasn't yet ended. And you did just issue Malfoy a warning earlier..." Harry felt a surge of vindictive joy as Malfoy lost his smirk. "So, he basically interfered with his fellow student's exam and used one of the foulest slurs there is."

Moody was in full agreement and deducted ten per cent of Malfoy's marks, which brought a heated response from the latter. "You're a _pathetic_ excuse of a Slytherin, Pott—"

SMACK!

"Hermione?" Harry gawked at the furious girl as Malfoy fled up the slopes. "Did you just..."

"That was a foolish move, Granger." Moody shook his head at the heavily breathing Hermione. "FOOLISH! Never close the distance against a wizard like that! Get back and use your wand instead! Speaking of which, let's get that Shield Charm going." He gave Hermione ten seconds before firing a Full Body-Bind Curse, which she just about managed to block. "There's a good lass. Solid work for a third-year, Granger... eighty per cent ought to do. No, wait, make it eighty-five for shutting up Malfoy as well. Oh, and twenty points to Gryffindor."

Harry couldn't stop grinning as he climbed the slopes, alongside Hermione. "Oh, man, that was brilliant! You're brilliant!"

Hermione simply kept on walking. "Where's my medal? I've waited long enough for it to be returned, Harry Potter. Look, if the Wizengamot—or whoever—refuses to award First Class to a Muggle-born student, then so be it. I want my commendation returned. Now."

Harry felt his pants get uncomfortably tight as Hermione glared at him. "OK, OK! I'll ask Professor Dumbledore to give them an ultimatum, or something." Then he spent the rest of their ascent (up the slopes) thinking about what Lavender and Parvati had said. _Bet she's clean down there too. Yeah, she probably keeps herself nice and smooth and—_

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" said Zacharias Smith, whom Harry nearly walked into at the top of the slope. "Or was the exam _that_ difficult?"

"No talking; no cheating!" said Yasmin from within the courtyard. "Get a move on, Smith! Oh, by the way, Granger, I'm afraid I'll have to take ten points from Gryffindor for assaulting a Slytherin student. Malfoy wasn't lying, was he?"

Hermione shook her head. "He deserved it, though. Just ask Professor Moody."

The final exam for most of the third-years was their remaining elective... or, in Hermione's case, 'electives'. The students all sat jubilant and relieved during lunch hour, while news of Hermione's smack spread like wildfire across the Great Hall. Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were the first to whistle and applaud Hermione, and Ron immediately inquired about every little detail of her attack. Harry, meanwhile, sat staring across the Hall from his spot at the Slytherin table.

"Aww, look at that face," said a giggling Pansy. "He's in luuuurv with his Danger Granger."

"You girls remember Malfoy's face earlier?" Tracey asked, as she poured herself some orange juice. "That slap mark was priceless!"

Millicent wasn't as enthusiastic as everyone else, though. "Hey, Harry. I'd keep an eye out for your Muggle-born crush, if I were you. Malfoy's pals are fuming over there."

Then, once the bell rang, it was time to head off in different directions. Some went up to the first floor, some went up to the seventh, others went elsewhere (since they'd taken neither Divination nor Muggle Studies)... and then there was Hermione Granger.

"OK, now I'm totally confused," said Harry, who stood panting after having checked both elective classes. "How fit are those legs, girl? Because there's _no way_ you could've beaten me to six floors up!"

Hermione made a finger-on-the-lip gesture before calling Harry over, while sitting near the base of the spiralling staircase (outside Divination). "Shhhh! Ron's already on my case about that. If I could tell you, I would; but Professor McGonagall made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone about this." She pulled out what looked like a golden, hourglass-looking pendant thing... which she promptly tucked beneath her robes again.

"But, you just said you couldn't tell me!" whispered Harry, to which Hermione smiled.

"Technically, I only _showed_ you. So use that big brain of yours and figure it out yourself, OK?" She gave one big, lengthy yawn. "I'm so sick and tired of being fatigued all the time this year. Perhaps I'll call it quits after this. No more Muggle Studies nor Divination... especially the latter. Talk about the most useless subject ever!"

Harry seized the opportunity. "Would you like to, I dunno, get some rest in the meantime? Trelawney's using her own 'unique' order of students... and we're a long way from now."

"Sure, I wasn't planning on studying anyway. My Inner Eye could use some shut-eye." And with that, Hermione laid her head on Harry's left shoulder. "Smells of sweat and conditioner over here..."

Minutes turned to half an hour as Harry sat with his arm wrapped around the snoozing girl. So what if Hermione's bushy hair was pressing against his cheek? Harry didn't care, nor did he wish to be anywhere else at the moment.

"Ooooh, how romantic," whispered Daphne, as she tiptoed past them on the steps. "Grab that bird while she's landed, if you know what I mean."

Half an hour turned to an hour now, and Harry felt the urge to doze off himself. Slowly but surely, he brought his cheek closer to the mass of hair on his shoulder; his eyelids feeling heavier by the second...

"... you sleep like a troll, Harry!"

Harry opened his eyes and felt himself lying on something quite warm and cosy. Then he caught his bearings and lifted his head from the robes covering Hermione's lap. "Wha... How long was I out?"

"Half an hour or so," said Hermione, thoroughly amused. "What kind of pillow ends up falling asleep on a person? This one, obviously." She poked him on the shoulder. "OK, I think Trelawney's just over halfway done with her list by now."

"I think I've figured it out," whispered Harry, stretching himself out while sitting beside Hermione. "Time-travel, eh? But, wouldn't you be causing alternate timelines and stuff? How long can you go back?" He gave a hopeful smile. "Could we ambush Voldemort and save my parents? Yeah, let's do it!"

"Harry—"

"If Mum and Dad were alive... I'd have siblings, right? Then we'd take over this school and show everyone who's boss. I'd be the eldest and gang leader, obviously."

Hermione explained all about the five-hour limit, the increasing risk per hour travelled, the need to return to the place of departure, the sheer number of risks associated with time-travel, and the fact that time-travelling itself was a closed-looped system. "It's not like those films you might've watched. We don't create 'alternate timelines and stuff', Harry." Then she placed her palm on his hand. "Some things are best left unchanged; I'm really sorry."

"Nah, it's OK. I mean, if it was that easy to just go back and fix things... then Dumbledore would've tried it already." Harry sighed and gave a slight smile, which made Hermione smile in return. "Well, at least we can change your subject list to be more bearable, right?"

"Right you are," said Hermione. "And I don't care what comes in the exam; a bit of bad news and deadly omens ought to get us through, right?"

Harry nodded. "So tell me, was I speaking to two different Hermiones that day in the corridor? You know, when I caught you taking Wideye Potion in that alcove?"

"This is why it's best not to think too much about time-travel," said Hermione. "The first, non-travelled, me was the one you actually spoke to the second time. After that, I made my way to Study of Ancient Runes then travelled back to sit in on Divination as well. That second, travelled me was the one who took the potion then."

"Wait, did you sit the entire Runes class and then travel back to also sit Divination?"

Hermione nodded. "It's been a tight squeeze all year. Basically, I sat the entire forty-five minutes and then immediately left to find a safe spot to travel back from. It was the rush from floor to floor, not to mention having sat an entire class beforehand, which wore me down—"

"—and necessitated all that Wideye Potion," said Harry, finishing Hermione's sentence. "So, if a class ended at, for example, a quarter to ten... then you'd run out and travel back, one hour, to a quarter to nine?"

"Now you're getting it! Imagine the rush to get from floor to floor in those fifteen minutes, especially for Divination, not to mention getting back to the place of departure after my 'past' class had finished. It was simply maddening!" Hermione laughed, causing the remaining students (further upstairs) to go 'Shhhh!'.

"OK, let's think about what could come in the exam..." Harry tried to take Divination seriously, but he couldn't help following Hermione's train of thought. If she reckoned something was silly, then there was a fair chance that Harry might just agree. "Such long lifelines, Miss Granger," he said, imitating Trelawney's misty voice. "Ooooh, that means you'll definitely outlive your poor little friend over here."

"Oh no!" said Hermione, feigning shock. "Are you talking about my friend who's haunted by the evil Grim?"

"That's the one." Harry gently ran his fingers along Hermione's palm. "What's this line, now again?" And so he continued until Hermione eventually pulled back.

"Um, let's wait until we're called."

Harry leaned against the wall and smiled. _Ha! Bet she got turned on by that palm stuff._

At some point during the next half an hour, Hermione's name was finally called—and she climbed the steps leading up to the silver ladder. Then, merely seven minutes later, she climbed back down and approached Harry. "What a fraud, seriously. I suppose I scraped a pass by talking up any random manner of things."

Of the few students left, Ron Weasley quickly approached. "Hey, everyone else said Trelawney warned them against giving us tips."

"Oh, for goodness sake." Hermione rolled her eyes and head. "That's obviously a cheap, convenient way of using fear and paranoia to prevent cheating. Not that anyone needs any help with crystal-gazing."

"So _that's_ what our exam's about!" said Ron, rubbing his hands together and smiling. "Thanks a ton, Hermione! Best day ever!"

"Yes, well, now I'm off to rearrange my schedule for next year. Oh, and I'll try to be on alert for any 'horrible accidents' headed my way, seeing as I told on the exam."

Harry turned to see Ron looking far less stressed than earlier, while speaking, "This is gonna be great. What bad news should I make up for that woman?"

"Dunno," said Harry, who couldn't help but feel somewhat 'paranoid' over Hermione's safety. What if, by some chance, there was an element of truth in Trelawney's warning? "I hope she calls us soon and gets this done."

Next in turn was Dean Thomas, followed by Su Li and Wayne Hopkins over yet another half an hour. Second-to-last was Ron Weasley, who battled to withhold his sniggering while climbing the silver ladder. Almost twenty minutes later, he descended with less of a grin on his face. "Blimey, it's a bit harder to make things up in an exam situation. Still a pass, though... I hope."

By now, it was essentially four o'clock when Trelawney's voice finally called "Harry Potter!" from within her room. And the final student, for the final third-year examination, finally made his way up to enter the stuffy, headache-inducing classroom—where Trelawney spoke. "Good day, my dear. If you'd kindly gaze into the Orb and report your findings to me... Take your time; there's no need to rush now. "

Harry bent over the crystal ball and gazed into it as intently as he could. It wasn't at all easy, though, especially with the heat and fumes flooding this room. Then he chose to make use of his basic Occlumency practice, which almost cleared his mind from the noxious distractions here. "I think I see... a shape of sorts."

"Think, now... What does it resemble?"

To be honest, Harry had indeed seen a vague flicker of something in the crystal ball. But, it had passed by so quickly that Harry was having difficulty recalling. "Hmm, it kind of reminded me about that fox prediction you made for Nott."

"Hmm, betrayal?" Trelawney began scribbling on the parchment which was placed upon her knees. "I do hope that you are focusing your mind and not slipping into the Mundane as your friend, Miss Granger, often demonstrated this year. Oh, a fruitless mind if I ever saw one... The signs are clear; she will not be rejoining us next year."

_No shit_, thought Harry, and he continued narrowing his eyes while staring into the crystal ball. "That little flicker might've been a man, Professor! A man with a... a fox as a head?"

Trelawney gave Harry a slightly sceptical look but continued scribbling nonetheless. "And what is this figure doing?"

Nothing but swirling white smoke filled the crystal ball, until Harry saw the vague shape doing something odd. "It's... trying to get away. Looks like the fox-man has been hunted, or something. No, seriously, I'm really seeing this! No lies!" _What creepy crap is going on here?_

"Very well... very well..." Trelawney appeared somewhat less suspicious as she came to her conclusion. "You are likely being warned of an impending betrayal involving an adult figure, Mr. Potter."

"I think there's a sword-like thing too..."

"Facing in which direction?" Trelawney asked, to which Harry reported it as being away from himself. "Then _you_ are likely the one who will instigate that betrayal, via an attack. Is the Orb providing any more sights and signs?"

"No," replied Harry, truthfully. "Nothing but white smoke now, Professor, but what could this mea—"

_"Soon it shall happen."_

_Mother of—_ Harry got such a fright from seeing Trelawney going rigid that he jumped out of his chair. Was this a trick? An exam scare? No, Trelawney's eyes had rolled back, and she was speaking in a strangely harsh voice... unlike her own.

_"The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless... abandoned by his followers. His most faithful servant, confined for twelve years, shall soon break free and set out to rejoin the Dark Lord. Master and servant shall be reunited once more, and the Dark Lord will rise again... greater and more terrible than ever before. Soon... the servant... will set out... to aid the master. Soon... at summer solstice this year..."_

After that, Trelawney seemed as confused as ever... and she had no recollection of her seizure-like moment at all. "Must've been the heat, dear boy. Is everything all right? I do not recall seeing you falling out of your seat earlier."

"You, er, spoke of the Dark Lord just now, Professor."

Trelawney denied ever predicting something as far-fetched as that, and she now helped Harry back onto his feet while speaking. "Perhaps you've dozed off too? It has been a long enough examination day indeed. Or perhaps the sights within the Orb were too terrible to comprehend? Yes, I do recall hearing something about you instigating an upcoming betrayal. Do be mindful of your actions from here on out, Mr. Potter."

For Harry, the 'signs' were clear enough that Trelawney had actually made a prediction. A true, Seer-like prediction right out of the blue in here. Now, with a newfound respect for his eccentric professor, Harry thanked her and quickly climbed down the ladder. He didn't care that he was the only student in the corridors at this hour; the priority was getting into Dumbledore's office as soon as possible.

* * *

Sometime later, Harry did his usual sweets-guessing trick until the gargoyle stepped aside. There was a good chance that the Headmaster might take offence to the sudden intrusion, but Harry wasn't too worried about this.

"Enter," said Dumbledore's voice. "Oh, good afternoon, Harry. Is something amiss?" And he stopped writing whatever he'd been busy with now, as Harry retold of Trelawney's prediction.

"Sir... could this be true?" Harry asked, as he took a seat at the desk. "Or does Professor Trelawney usually shock her final students like that?"

Dumbledore looked quite thoughtful at this. "No, this sounds very much like it could actually be her second real prediction. Perhaps a pay rise is in order? But, coming back to the topic of Sybill's words... 'most faithful servant', 'confined for twelve years'... That narrows things down to a very select group of people, Harry. The only 'servants' of Voldemort who are currently 'confined' would be those in Azkaban... unless, of course, the term applies to those who've pleaded their way out of imprisonment too. However, their loyalties are fairly questionable these days—Lucius Malfoy included."

"What about Snape, sir? He's technically 'confined' here, isn't he?"

"Professor Snape has my utmost confidence, Harry, and his loyalties are certainly not with Lord Voldemort. Let us narrow it down then, shall we? Firstly, we can rule out Peter Pettigrew completely. Then we have the remaining, and most likely, servants: Rabastan, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix Lestrange. They're likely to be the 'most faithful' of the Azkaban lot." Then he seemed to have realised something. "Bellatrix... the prediction is most likely referring to her."

Harry frowned. "You said that name a while back, I remember."

"If I can recall correctly..." Dumbledore stood up and went to place a certain memory into his Pensieve. "Her final words, before being taken away by the Dementors, were slightly in line with this prediction." He vanished and later reappeared, after having viewed whatever memory that was. Then he bottled up the swirling strands and returned them to his collection. "There remains one problem, though: I simply cannot see Bellatrix Lestrange, or any of the rest, breaking out of Azkaban over this summer."

"But, Professor Trelawney predicted it," said Harry, although Dumbledore remained sceptical.

"No, the Death Eaters within Azkaban are far too heavily guarded, and weakened, to make any attempt at rejoining Voldemort now. And the Dementors have no reason to betray the Ministry of Magic... yet. Hmm, perhaps I'll have Professor Snape keep an eye on Lucius Malfoy over the holidays. What would you suggest, Harry?"

Harry felt honoured to be asked for his input on Dumbledore's decision. "We can't watch Lucius every day, though, but a few extra lessons for his son might serve as a useful cover for Professor Snape. However, there's still far too many opportunities for our slippery friend to do his business... if he ends up being the faithful servant. Do you really think it could be Lucius Malfoy, sir?"

"A tricky question... The diary incident showed that Lucius was willing to sacrifice Lord Voldemort's own possessions for mere personal gain. That alone adds to my doubts, and it would likely incur Voldemort's fury when the latter inevitably discovers what had occurred last year."

"What about the other 'former' Death Eaters?" Harry asked. "There's probably way too many still out there; hiding in plain sight."

"I am grateful for Sybill's definite date, though," said Dumbledore, slightly smiling. "'Summer solstice' refers to the 21st of June coming up. But, other than that, we don't have anything much to go on, Harry. Even I cannot keep an eye on every single 'servant' of Voldemort out there."

Harry sighed. "So there's nothing much we can do, eh? Nothing definite and specific?"

"Unfortunately not. But, rest assured that my sources tell me many 'former' Death Eaters out there are anything but 'most faithful'. I will have Severus keep an eye on Lucius; Remus and Sirius keep watch over the Parkinsons' place, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley observe Walden Macnair; and, perhaps, call upon Mundungus Fletcher to report upon anything odd happening around Knockturn Alley and the like. Anything else is still up for plans and discussions as well."

It wasn't quite the answer that Harry had expected, but he soon left the office while feeling slightly more relieved. At least the Headmaster was willing to listen to Harry's warning and tried to do something... even if questionably effective. Well, there was still almost two weeks to go until summer solstice, and Harry planned to simply enjoy the remainder of this month at Hogwarts.


	21. End of the Year

While most students occupied themselves with miscellaneous matters — such as Quidditch friendlies, house-point tasks, holiday plans, etc. — Harry spent many a June day pondering Trelawney's prediction. There was no denying that she'd gone into a proper, Seer-like state then, although the accuracy and probability of her words left a nagging feeling at the back of Harry's mind. Just who was this 'most faithful servant, confined for twelve years' that would break free in less than a week's time?

"How many times do I have to tell you that she's obviously a fraud?" Hermione asked, while walking beside Harry near the Great Lake. "Divination's always been a bunch of paranoia and guesswork, which Trelawney likely exploited to get a reaction from you. She's been doing it all year to everyone anyway."

Harry wasn't entirely convinced by this dismissive response. "You weren't there; you didn't see how un-Trelawney-like she was."

"Oh, forget her! If you want something done, do it the logical way." Hermione readjusted her purple-ribboned medal, which gleamed gold beneath the afternoon sun. "It was logic that caught Wormtail, logic that uncovered the Chamber of Secrets, logic that identified the Basilisk, and logic that solved Professor Snape's riddle, remember?"

"If I hear the word 'logic' one more time..."

Hermione pulled away Harry's hands, which were covering his ears. "The logical decision would be to discuss this issue with Professor Snape, in private."

"I'd much rather 'discuss' things with you, _in private_."

Once again, Hermione showed no signs of acknowledging Harry's remark. She just smoothed her T-shirt and carried on walking. "Why not put aside your grudges and work together?"

"My grudges? Sniv — er, Snape's the one with the issues here!" This discussion was going nowhere, and Harry quickly changed the topic as he and Hermione took off their socks and shoes. "Listen, I'm really sorry we couldn't convince the Wizengamot to change your medal."

Hermione sat on the bank and dipped her feet into the water. "Hmph, well, at least you gave it a try."

"'Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, Second Class.' How does that sound?"

Hermione gasped. "Surely you wouldn't? There are countless witches and wizards out there who'd do anything to get even a Third Class one!"

Silence ensued as Harry sat contemplating his decision. "I can't rest knowing that you're forcing yourself to be proud of a medal lower than mine. We'll be Second Class together now." He smiled as Hermione gave him a flabbergasted look. "It's only fair for us to have the same award, you know."

* * *

As the final week of school moved on, Harry caused quite a stir (in Hogwarts and beyond) by downgrading his Order of Merlin to Second Class. This quickly became the subject of many jokes from his less likable schoolmates, although it earned him loads more respect from those who understood his decision. The press was also quite baffled... until they deduced that Harry had done so in response to his failed appeal for Hermione Granger. This, however, had the unintended effect of bringing a variety of hate-letters for the latter... for which Harry felt guilty to no end.

"Oh man, I didn't think it'd be like this," he said, while sitting beside Hermione on Thursday (the 16th) after breakfast. They'd taken to lounging beneath the shade of a beech tree near the edge of the lake, seeing as it was another pleasant day today.

For someone who'd just received her seventh hate-mail this morning, Hermione seemed to be taking things rather well. "Yes, you weren't exactly thinking with this decision, were you? Good job giving all those traditionalist drones out there something to rally against." She smiled nonetheless. "It's too bad, though. That First Class went quite well with your robes and eyes. But now we're purple together!"

"Yeah, that's us... purpling against the world." They sat in serene silence for another ten minutes, until some jeers and laughter could be heard coming from behind.

"— what the hell, man? You're nuts!"

"And here I thought Potter's made some whack decisions lately!"

Harry turned around to see Peregrine Derrick, Lucian Bole, and Marcus Flint walking across the grass, towards the lake. Something seems to have brought much amusement and disbelief to Derrick and Bole, while Flint calmly approached Harry.

"Morning, Second Class people," he said, but without the malice of when Malfoy and others would make such remarks. "You ready to win that Quidditch Cup next year, Potter?"

"Yeah! Who's Captain?"

Flint thumped his chest. "You're looking at him, of course."

"Aren't you a seventh-year?" Hermione asked, and Flint nodded his head. "Oh my God, you... you _failed_?"

"I prefer to think of it as organising another chance at winning my team the Cup," said Flint, and Harry blinked.

"You failed _on purpose_?"

Derrick and Bole nodded on behalf of Flint, who shrugged. "Look at it this way: now you and I get to tear up the pitch together again, that Cup comes back again, and" — Flint's expression softened a slight bit — "I get to see my sister start school... although she's a brat."

Harry didn't know what to say, really. "That's... wow."

"I'll draw up some tactics and training regimes over the holidays," said Flint, walking away with his sixth-year duo. "Next year will be our year! Slytherin for the Cup!"

Derrick snorted. "At least we'll all three be seventh-years next year..."

Then, once the burly trio were out of earshot, Hermione spoke in a low, shocked tone while staring at the lake. "He failed his final year on purpose. How could anyone do such a... a _crazy_ thing?"

"That's Flint for you," said Harry, staring at the sunlit surface of the lake. "Well, at least his family's big on Quidditch, so winning the Cup one more time will excuse him."

* * *

The following evening saw every Slytherin occupy whatever space was available in their common room, as Professor Snape stood in its centre. There was no need to even guess what his calm fury was all about, seeing as today was the final night of term at last.

"So," said Snape, pacing while addressing the group of one hundred and twelve students. "_So_, it seems our Cup streaks have finally come to an end. I'd've thought you, of all students, would've done everything in your power to ensure that we do not lose the House Cup as well."

Some sixth-year boy raised his hand. "We tried, sir, but Potter's foolishness is what led to us losing!"

Snape fixed his gaze on Harry, who remained seated to the left of the crowd. "Fair enough, but Potter's decision had awarded both houses one hundred and fifty points for that night. As much as it pains me to admit, Potter isn't entirely at fault for our inexcusable failure."

Yasmin stood up from her seat, somewhere to the right of the crowd, and spoke. "If you ask me, I'd place the blame on all these idiots who've given us reason to deduct house points after house points this year. I'm talking about those who've constantly gone at Harry, Granger, etc."

"Exactly!" said another female prefect. "If not for _that_ lot, whom I don't even need to name, we'd be loads more points up now."

"Regardless of who's to blame, the fact remains that nobody from this house will be considered for Head Boy or Girl next year." Snape hardly cared for the sixth-years' responses. "Well, now you might understand how it pains me to see my office shelves lacking at least one rightful Cup upon them." As soon as Snape exited the common room, everything descended into a chaotic blame-game in here.

"Happy now, Malfoy and pals?"

"Don't you point fingers at us! Potter's the one who made a Mudblood get one-fifty points for its house!"

"That's exactly the sort of crap that cost us points this year, Malfoy."

"It's not just Malfoy; it's all of those brainless, hateful sheep over there!"

Once the prefects finally restored order, everyone filed out the room and made their way down the corridor outside. Nobody said a word as they walked in line towards the Entrance Hall, where they took one last glance at the house-point hourglasses while on their way to the end-of-year feast.

"Wait a sec," said Prefect Pucey, whose perplexed expression was shared by every single Slytherin here. "How can we be in the lead? Gryffindor were tops by twenty-four less than an hour ago!"

"Does this mean... we somehow won the Cup?" Flint asked, rubbing his chin in confusion. "Hey, anybody got any idea what's happening here? No way some fool could've earned points right at the end!"

The crowd of over a hundred then entered a green-and-silver-decorated Great Hall, where a huge banner depicting the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the staff table. It was a sight many Slytherins were used to, of course, given their constant stream of success over the past decade. But tonight was utterly bizarre, to say the least. The Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and — especially — Gryffindors were also chatting most fervently among one another. Even Snape was looking around with a perplexed expression on his face.

"The end to another year!" said Dumbledore, once everyone had taken their seats. "And although we've endured many challenges, inconveniences, and uncertainties, we've emerged wittier and wiser than before. Now, before we dive in to our delicious feast, I believe the House Cup here needs awarding. Many of you may be pondering the unexpected decoration, seeing as Gryffindor were just recently in the lead... However, it has come to my attention that one very noble deed has, up until recently, failed to receive the recognition it deserves."

Harry had a slight suspicion that this 'noble deed' involved him, which Pansy and her gang also appeared to be speculating.

"So, with regards to our final standings, Hufflepuff sits in fourth place, with three hundred and twenty-six points; Ravenclaw takes third, with four hundred and twelve..." Dumbledore looked around and saw every student staring at him in anticipation. "...Gryffindor remains on five hundred and sixty, which places them in second place at the end of this year..."

"But why?" asked one of the senior Gryffindor boys, clearly baffled as to losing out so unexpectedly here. "We were up by twenty-four just now!"

Dumbledore carried on speaking, "One student sought to prove that it is through our actions, not the so-called 'purity' of blood, that we are to be commended by. And although his efforts have failed to produce their intended results, this student displayed the kind of selflessness which, I feel, is worth a commendation in itself. I have therefore awarded fifty points to Slytherin house, for Harry Potter's recent, gallant efforts."

It took the students a while to figure out what Dumbledore had meant; but once they finally understood... the overall reaction was a mix of cheers, applause, and a variety of disappointment. The Gryffindors were, understandably, the most conflicted of the lot. For as much as they were disappointed to have narrowly lost out on the House Cup (which would've ended Slytherin's win-streak), there was no denying that Harry's efforts were worthy of those house points indeed. After all, nobody would even consider downgrading a First Class medal (or any award) for the sake of a mere friend.

"I knew it!" said Pansy, caught between celebrations and laughter. "Looks like Harry's efforts at getting into Granger's pants won us the House Cup!"

Daphne banged her goblet while laughing. "Yeah! I'll bet he's just aching to grab that study-bum of hers, huh?"

"I'd love to get into her Chamber of Secrets," said Harry, joining the round of jokes going across Pansy's gang.

Not every Slytherin shared such elation, though, as could be seen among Malfoy's section of the table. They were clearly disgusted at owing their narrow victory to a half-blood's dedication towards his Muggle-born friend.

"I'd rather we lost the Cup than put up with this," Malfoy could be heard saying, even through the cheers and whistles across the table. "Salazar Slytherin would be sick to his stomach right now."

Once the celebrations had finally calmed down (and it took a long time to do so), the tables were then filled with all manner of scrumptious foods. Harry knew, from his previous night-time wanderings, that the many house-elves of Hogwarts were to thank for the students and staff's meals, laundry, and tidying up... although he still hadn't got around to telling Hermione yet.

"So romantic, Harry!" said Yasmin from further down the table. "Do tell us when you're having that long-awaited wedding with Miss Muggle-born! Two Second Classes make First, know what I mean?"

Harry knew at once that Yasmin's words had travelled across the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables too, as a wave of snorts and laughter could be heard. And once the joke reached the Gryffindors, Harry couldn't bring himself to look up.

"Granger's looking at you," said Sally-Anne, seated beside Harry. "And she's turning pink in the face from laughter."

Suddenly, the plates, goblets, and cuisines appeared very interesting to Harry... and he kept his eyes on them while gobbling down anything in sight. Then came the wide variety of desserts, which he stuffed himself with as well. And finally, he deliberately belched loud enough for Pansy to elbow him in the side.

"Fuck's sake. Some of the teachers are even looking this way."

"Who the hell was that?" asked one of the Ravenclaws seated behind Tracey, to which another pointed at the laughing Harry.

"Thanks, Harry," said Sally-Anne, giving an unamused smile. "Smells of strawberries and cream here now." Then she suddenly gasped. "Oh man, here comes the results!"

Sure enough, the Heads of House soon went around to distribute each of their students' exam results — except for the fifth and seventh-years (who had to wait until July for theirs). An eerie hush swept over the Great Hall as hundreds of envelopes were torn open by their owners now.

"I'm reading mine out first, because I'm the princess here." Pansy held up her parchment, which read:

_ **Pansy Parkinson (III)** _

_Astronomy: 66% (A)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: 73% (E)_

_Charms: 85% (O)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 82% (O)_

_Divination: 68% (A)_

_Herbology: 66% (A)_

_History of Magic: 70% (E)_

_Potions: 77% (E)_

_Transfiguration: 94% (O)_

_Average: 75,7%_

"Not too shabby overall. Knew you'd ace Transfiguration," said Daphne, who now lifted up her own parchment to read. "And now for me, myself, and I..."

_ **Daphne Greengrass (III)** _

_Astronomy: 83% (O)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: 70% (E)_

_Charms: 71% (E)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 76% (E)_

_Divination: 65% (A)_

_Herbology: 75% (E)_

_History of Magic: 80% (O)_

_Potions: 78% (E)_

_Transfiguration: 72% (E)_

_Average: 74,4%_

"Mwahaha! My average beats yours," said Pansy, tilting her nose in the air. "And I killed you in Transfiguration and Charms too."

Next up was Tracey, who'd achieved:

_ **Tracey Davis (III)** _

_Arithmancy: 70% (E)_

_Astronomy: 74% (E)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: 72% (E)_

_Charms: 109% (O)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 74% (E)_

_Herbology: 58% (A)_

_History of Magic: 56% (A)_

_Potions: 85% (O)_

_Transfiguration: 62% (A)_

_Average: 73,3%_

"To hell with the 'H' classes, I say!" Tracey snorted, although she was proud of her results nonetheless. "I'm the new Flitwick now."

"Talk about overkill," said Millicent. "OK, OK, I'll go next..."

_ **Millicent Bulstrode (III)** _

_Arithmancy: 48% (P)_

_Astronomy: 66% (A)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: 88% (O)_

_Charms: 75% (E)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 77% (E)_

_Herbology: 80% (O)_

_History of Magic: 85% (O)_

_Potions: 68% (A)_

_Transfiguration: 72% (E)_

_Average: 73,2%_

"Oh no... you failed Arithmancy!" said Tracey, gasping. "B-But, didn't I tutor you on Vector's work last month?"

Millicent shrugged. "Those calculations kept making me drowsy, I guess. It's not that bad of a fail, though. Two per cent won't force a repeat of the curriculum. Who's next? Harry or Sally-Anne?"

"Funny how we're in descending order of averages so far, but I'll have to break that coincidence now," said Sally-Anne. "Here goes..."

_ **Sally-Anne Perks (III)** _

_Arithmancy: 77% (E)_

_Astronomy: 77% (E)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: 70% (E)_

_Charms: 86% (O)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 87% (O)_

_Herbology: 73% (E)_

_History of Magic: 74% (E)_

_Potions: 85% (O)_

_Transfiguration: 76% (E)_

_Average: 78,3%_

"Wow," said Pansy, leaning across Harry to view Sally-Anne's impressive results. "What the heck's going on on top, though?"

"Luck of the Scouse." Sally-Anne grinned as she then looked at Daphne's results. "Go throw that in our river, girl."

"Oh, shut up," said Daphne, before all five girls turned to look at Harry — who'd been rather silent thus far.

"What? Oh, right, save the prince of all half-bloods for last." Harry gave an exaggerated clearance of the throat and read:

_ **Harry Potter (III)** _

_Astronomy: 60% (A)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: 120% (O)_

_Charms: 102% (O)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 105% (O)_

_Divination: 70% (E)_

_Herbology: 66% (A)_

_History of Magic: 65% (A)_

_Potions: 95% (O)_

_Transfiguration: 96% (O)_

_Average: 86,6%_

"Seems OK," Harry said, with the slightest bit of concern on his face. "Think my godfather will like this?"

"Duh! Why wouldn't he?" Pansy slapped her hands on the table. "That's third year... done!"

"Done and dusted!" said Tracey, breathing a sigh of relief. "I think we all did well, if you ask me."

Harry joined the rest of his house as they returned to their common room and celebrated throughout the night. Then, at some point during the commotion, Snape arrived to reverse his Head-Student ban, warn the Slytherins against needing 'simple luck' to retain the House Cup again, and wish the seventh-years all of the best for wherever life may take them.

* * *

Too soon, it was the final Saturday of the year, and everyone trooped into the Great Hall for a quick breakfast before the summer holidays. After that, they left the castle and took the chance to watch the traditional send-off for the seventh-years — at the Great Lake.

"Firs' an' seventh-years, over here!" said Hagrid, standing at the edge of the lake. "Fer those of yeh who don' already know, the seventh-years are taken across the river, via the boats, at the end of their year. Age-old tradition, this is."

"What about the ones who failed?" asked Astoria Greengrass, standing in the front row of students.

Marcus Flint caused quite a stir with his refusal to join his now-former classmates. "That depends. If, like me, you know you're getting an extra year... then stay put and take the carriages to the train station. Otherwise, just join the rest, get your results later, and come back next year again."

"But how do you know you failed, Flint?" asked another young Slytherin. "Surely your exams weren't _that_ bad?"

Flint kept silent; unwilling to bring even more attention unto himself by running his mouth. He simply watched as the other seventh-years took their share of boats alongside the enthusiastic first-year group. This meant that the average student would end up riding the enchanted boats thrice throughout their schooling years.

Meanwhile, Harry stood to the far left of the crowd — beside Hermione. "Someday we'll be making that final trip, eh? Reckon we'll all be older and uptighter by then."

"You know..." Hermione turned to look from the boats — which sailed towards the distant bank— to Harry. "I've never truly considered what we'll be doing after that. _You_, especially."

"Me?"

Hermione nodded. "Voldemort's still out there, and he'll never stop searching for a way to regain a body. How exactly are we supposed to defeat a thing like that? Trap him, perhaps?"

"I'd prefer that he no longer exist," said Harry, frowning. "In the meantime, we ought to stay alert for Trelawney's prediction... just two days left."

"And in the meantime of that meantime, have a look at this!" Hermione pulled out her exam results, which read:

_ **Hermione Granger (III)** _

_Arithmancy: 97% (O)_

_Astronomy: 91% (O)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: 120% (O)_

_Charms: 100% (O)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 85% (O)_

_Divination: 50% (A)_

_Herbology: 89% (O)_

_History of Magic: 93% (O)_

_Muggle Studies: 320% (O)_

_Potions: 85% (O)_

_Study of Ancient Runes: 88% (O)_

_Transfiguration: 93% (O)_

_Average: 109,3%_

Harry's jaw fell open. "You're an animal, Granger. What the hell's up with Muggle Studies and Divination, though?"

Hermione gave a smile that Harry couldn't resist. "Professor Burbage's unusually high threshold serves to encourage more detail, quality, and overall effort in her class. But, um, I'm afraid I've had to drop it in the end."

"Yeah, that Time-Turner was driving you nuts." Harry remained staring at this magnificent set of results (minus Divination, of course). "So, you're ditching Divination and Muggle Studies, right?"

"That's right. Now let's see yours, Mister." Hermione ran her eyes down Harry's parchment and smiled. "Ohhhh, someone must be feeling pretty proud of himself for having bested me in a few subjects."

"Just so you know, Pansy bested you by a single per cent in Transfiguration, Sally-Anne got you in Defence, and Tracey beat us both — maybe everyone — in Charms."

Hermione groaned. "Great, they'll never shut up about that, then. So, would you like to see Ron's marks? He forgot to take this back earlier..."

_ **Ronald Weasley (III)** _

_Astronomy: 59% (A)_

_Care of Magical Creatures: 93% (O)_

_Charms: 70% (E)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 72% (E)_

_Divination: 52% (A)_

_Herbology: 75% (E)_

_History of Magic: 60% (A)_

_Potions: 62% (A)_

_Transfiguration: 67% (A)_

_Average: 67,8%_

"That's a pretty solid performance," said Harry, impressed. "Not as good as us, of course."

"And he hasn't shut up about beating me in Divination yet. Honestly, I'll bet Trelawney simply pushed a pass to get me out of her class." She smiled. "That'd be the _logical _decision."

As they turned around to head north, towards the sloping lawns, Harry pondered the amount of times Hermione often smiled in his company. She probably did so with him more than with others, or was that simply wishful thinking?

"There you are, Professor!" Ginny came running up the slopes, with her exam results in hand. "See here! See here!"

_ **Ginevra Weasley (II)** _

_Astronomy: 70% (E)_

_Charms: 76% (E)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 87% (O)_

_Herbology: 71% (E)_

_History of Magic: 77% (E)_

_Potions: 73% (E)_

_Transfiguration: 88% (O)_

_Average: 77,4%_

"Brilliant!" said Harry, hugging his younger friend, while Hermione was both impressed and amused.

"'Professor?'"

"She's been calling me that since last month or so." Harry shrugged and looked at the smiling Ginny. "Your mum's gonna love these marks, my little tutee."

Just then, Cho approached Harry's group as they reached the front gates. "And you, Harry, are 'my little tutee'. So let's see those results..." She took Harry's parchment and nodded while reading. "Excellent! A bit off on Astronomy, Herbology, and History of Magic... but that's all right. Hermione, is it true that you got over three hundred per cent on Muggle Studies?"

Hermione nodded and flaunted her results, which caused Ginny and Cho to gawk in bewilderment. "And before you ask, I had taken all those subjects, yes, although I'm dropping Divination and Muggle Studies to make things more bearable."

They carried on walking down the road outside, to where the horseless carriages stood waiting.

"But, how did you do everything at once?" Ginny asked, to which Hermione whispered an explanation about the Time-Turner. "Cool! Could we save Harry's parents with that? Let's do it!"

Harry shook his head, while Cho basically said the same thing the former once did. "If it was that easy, someone like the Headmaster would've tried it already."

"OK, so, tutee..." Harry turned to look at Ginny, after they'd all climbed into a carriage. "Have you finalised your elective decisions for next year yet?"

Hermione and Cho both gave their input as Ginny sat contemplating her choices for next year. She was eager to try Care of Magical Creatures, like Harry, but ended up hearing less than ideal things from Hermione and Cho.

"...that's just the honest truth," said Cho, despite Harry's disagreement. "Hagrid's a great gamekeeper, yes, but he's no professor. Kettleburn was loads more grounded in his work... although both had their moments."

"You've only had Kettleburn for one year, though." Harry crossed his arms while slouching in his seat. "I heard he wasn't too much bothered when a vicious, man-eating beast went loose in the school. Chimaeras are no joke, you know."

"OK, OK, enough arguing," said Hermione. "So, Ginny, are you interested in Arithmancy? It's really great, you know. Far better than the guesswork and paranoia of Divination..."

"Hey, wait a minute..." Harry suddenly realised something, while Hermione and Ginny were eagerly discussing the latter's potential schedule. "You never showed me your results, Cho."

"Oh, right, sorry." She reached into her bag and withdrew her parchment, which read:

_ **Cho Chang (IV)** _

_Astronomy: 86% (O)_

_Charms: 75% (E)_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: 68% (A)_

_Herbology: 90% (O)_

_History of Magic: 70% (E)_

_Muggle Studies: 135% (O)_

_Potions: 73% (E)_

_Study of Ancient Runes: 81% (O)_

_Transfiguration: 89% (O)_

_Average: 85,2%_

"Someday I'll have to tutor you in Defence," said Harry, and Cho actually agreed. Then it was time to discuss Ginny's electives once more, to which Hermione seemed almost overbearing in her advice.

"Are you _absolutely_ sure about Arithmancy?"

"Yes, Hermione, I'm _absolutely_ sure."

"Are you certain?"

Ginny nodded once again. "I don't wanna take Arithmancy; it's boring! I'd much rather do Care of Magical Creatures and... I dunno."

"Study of Ancient Runes?" Cho asked. "It's quite fascinating, really. And if you ever come across any dated textbooks, ruins, or whatever, you'll be grateful to have done it. It's not even that difficult at the start; just loads of straightforward translations and stuff."

"I don't know!" Ginny shook her head, sending her flaming red hair swishing from side to side (which Harry quite admired). "Runes is dull — sorry, Cho — Arithmancy's about as fun as getting a migraine — sorry, Hermione — and Divination's a bunch of stupid, death-omen crap — no offence, Harry."

"You know you don't _have _to take only two electives, right?" Hermione asked. "That's the minimum."

The carriages soon came to a halt, at Hogsmeade station, and Harry suddenly smiled. "Take two electives, Ginny: Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies."

"Hagrid, sure, but why would I care about Muggles?"

Hermione gasped, smiled, and shook Harry's shoulder in delight. "That's a brilliant idea! Muggle Studies will open up so many paths in the Ministry for Ginny, and she'll be able to help her dad get things right! Honestly, you'd think that the Head of the Misuse of _Muggle _Artefacts Office would at least have a decent understanding of 'Muggle artefacts' themselves."

"Has your Head Boy brother given you any advice regarding electives yet?" Cho asked, glancing at Ginny. "I'm sure Percy would have quite a lecture prepared for his only sister."

Ginny shook her head again. "He's far too preoccupied with his own future now, not to mention trying to spend as much time with precious Penelope before she moves on with her own life. If you ask me, I don't think she's as interested in Percy as he fawns over her."

"Ouch," said Cho, giggling nonetheless. "If you ask me, I wouldn't blame Penelo — that's my nickname for her — one bit. Very few girls would be interested in someone as unbalanced as Percy."

Ginny frowned. "You calling my brother mad?"

"No, silly." Harry sniggered. "She means 'unbalanced' as in Percy not knowing the definition of 'fun'. He's way, waaay too engrossed in work. Hmm, sounds familiar..." He shot an obvious glance at Hermione, who huffed.

"Oh, excuse me!"

Just as they were about to climb out the carriage, Harry pulled out a silver hair-tie from his jeans pocket. "Ginny, come here, quickly."

"Where'd you get that?" She asked, giggling (as did Cho and Hermione) as Harry tied her hair into a ponytail. "I think you've been in a girls' dormitory for far too long now. Next thing we know, you'll be rocking skirts and stockings to school."

"So, holiday plans..." said Harry, as the group made their way towards the Hogwarts Express. "I'll be staying with the Muggles for a while before settling in at Sirius' new place. Lupin's there too, so full moons are gonna be a blast!"

"I'd much rather have a werewolf — on Wolfsbane, of course — than a stupid, noisy ghoul at my house." Ginny sighed, and then she suddenly gasped. "Hey, it's the Quidditch World Cup this summer! I can't believe I forgot to remind you, Harry."

"What?" Cho shot an astonished glance at Harry. "How can _he _not remember that? I mean, Harry's probably the best player in this school!"

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling his cheeks heat up at the compliment, "but my gang's already told me all about that. Oh, who's this? Padma or Parvati?"

Hermione smiled. "It's hard to tell when they're not in uniform, eh? That should be Parvati; she had a ponytail this morning when I left her with Crookshanks. Hi, Parvati!"

The beautiful twin met them at one of the train's entrances. "This cat's so cute and cuddly! Here, I think he's been missing you a bit." She placed Crookshanks on the ground, and he immediately darted past the awaiting Hermione to rub his face against Harry's shoe. "Wow, awkward..."

"It's OK," said Hermione, looking more amused than anything else. "I guess he's still happy that Harry followed through on the whole Sirius-adventure thing. Thanks for taking care of him this morning, Parvati."

"No problem, although my sister was far too busy finalising holiday plans with Lavender Brown to bother carrying your cat around." And with that, she giggled and boarded the train.

"I'm pretty sure that was Padma," said Cho. "Lucky for us, she's pretty chilled about the whole twin-mistaking thing. Well, people, see you when I see you again."

"Hermione?" Harry asked, as they made their way down the train's passage.

"I'd appreciate some peace and quiet to read through some fourth-year work. Have a good holiday, Harry!" Hermione sought out her own compartment, with Crookshanks trotting along behind her.

"Ginny?"

"I'll catch up with you over the holidays," she said, giving him a hug. "Bye, Professor Potter!"

Harry chuckled and made his way down the passage, where he passed by the lunch trolley at Yasmin's compartment. The latter had just finished buying herself some treats and, once the trolley moved on, now sat casting her personal spell over the boxes. "All right, little man? See you at the World Cup soon! We'll be at every game until the main event, 'cos Daddy's bought us loads of tickets."

Adrian Pucey, who sat in a corner of the compartment, looked thoroughly amused. "Yeah, her family could probably buy the whole World Cup or something."

Marcus Flint was also in the compartment, although he was far too engrossed in his Quidditch tactics to notice anything, or anyone, else. Harry now moved on and made his way further down the passage, where he went from door to door until passing by a certain compartment.

"Hey, Potter!" Malfoy tossed aside an empty sweets wrapper while speaking. "You need to get your eyes and glasses checked. Even if Granger was a pure-blood from the best of wizarding families, I wouldn't so much as touch her. She's really ugly, to say the least."

Zabini grimaced, while sitting closest to the door. "God, that disgusting hair... I'm surprised the birds haven't taken to nesting in that mess yet. And Granger's teeth... those front ones could bite into a troll, or something."

"She sorta walks like a hunchback, I'd say," said Nott, scoffing. "All that studying-to-compensate-for-being-a-Mudblood stuff has really taken its toll on her so far, huh?"

Malfoy added another one of his insults. "The thing walked past me in the corridors a few times... God, the smell! I swear Granger's perfume couldn't conceal the stench of sweat throughout the year. It must've been walking for far more than was necessary, the overeager beaver." All five boys laughed as Malfoy now made beaver-like expressions.

But as for Harry, he simply walked on and hardly gave a damn. His former roommates were clearly exaggerating the less-than-perfect aspects of Hermione, which Harry had no problems overlooking. Yes, she had bushy-frizzy hair; yes, her front teeth were somewhat large; yes, she had some bad posture; and yes, all this year's walking had made her sweat somewhat profusely at times... but none of those were nearly as bad as Malfoy's group had described. Hell, Harry wouldn't mind if Hermione ditched the perfume altogether; he certainly had no issues with her getting all sweaty...

"Again walking like a zombie," said an older Hufflepuff boy, whom Harry nearly walked into while making his way down the passage. "Zacharias said you almost bumped into him the other day. What gives?"

"Er, nothing." Harry shoved aside his thoughts of Hermione's scent, and he hurried off to finally reach Pansy's compartment further down the passage. "So, what did I miss?"

"Nothing," said Pansy, yawning while laying across Daphne's lap. "Nothing at all."

Sally-Anne was fast asleep in her corner, with Spooky doing the exact same thing on her lap.

"Just cruisin' on the train again," said Tracey, laying without a care in the world across the other seat. This meant that Millicent was sitting with Tracey's legs across her lap, although she didn't seem to mind.

"Who do you suppose will win the World Cup?" Millicent asked, while reading a recent edition of _Witch Weekly_. "Harry, you ought to play for England someday; they're sorely in need of a decent Seeker. Every time they play some big bloke who's only good for budging aside his opponent; nothing else."

Having woken up rather early this morning, Harry eventually fell asleep for a good portion of his train ride, until being shaken awake by Pansy (whose lap he'd been laying on after she'd sat up). "Wha —?"

"Miss Muggle-born's here," said Pansy, gesturing towards Hermione at the door. "Come on in; don't be a stranger, Granger."

"You didn't have to disrupt his sleep," said Hermione, standing in the doorway. "Just so you know, Harry, Sirius just sent Ron an owl; an energetic little thing about this size." She made the impression of a tennis ball in her hands. "Well, have a good nap and enjoy the holidays."

Harry yawned. "Wake me up if it's a Dementor or Lord Voldemort or whatever..." And with that, he slept peacefully until waking up once the train was a couple counties from London. From here, he just sat around and enjoyed the rest of his trip with the girls.

At King's Cross station, Harry joined the crowd of students exiting the train and, eventually, making their way through the magical barrier. He then stopped to see Pansy approach her mother, dressed in a business suit, at a nearby bench.

Pansy stuck out her hand and waited, with some anticipation, as her mother read through the exam results. Then, seconds later, Mrs. Parkinson smiled and pulled her daughter into a hug; neither being the slightest bit embarrassed to do so in public.

"Hey," whispered Daphne nearby. "Where's your godfather?"

"Saving his appearance for when picking me up at the Dursleys," said Harry, smiling. "Gonna be a real scare for them then."

"OK then... bye!" Daphne gave Harry a tight little hug before sending him on his way, towards the frowning pair of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

"This crackpot school of yours..." Uncle Vernon muttered under his breath. "What do they think they're playing at, sending you home at different times each year? Don't they keep a set schedule there? Dudley isn't even back from school yet."

"Last year it was at least a week later than this," said Aunt Petunia, frowning. "What'll it be next year? Start of July?"

"Go and ask Professor Dumbledo—"

"OK! OK!" Uncle Vernon looked absolutely horrified at any prolonged discussion of anything to do with 'that other world'. "In the car! Quick! Before questions are asked about that owl!"

The trip home was a sweltering one, and Harry nearly dozed off as much as his aunt did in this heat. They drove for so long that it was long past sunset by the time they reached number four, Privet Drive.

"Be grateful we don't charge you for all this petrol, boy," said Aunt Petunia, once everyone had entered the house. "And don't even think of sitting at the table without getting off whatever germs _that _world has."

Harry said nothing as he made his way upstairs, got freshened up in the bathroom, had dinner, and then — eventually — plonked himself on his bed. Then he saw Hedwig cooped up in her cage; a terribly bored feeling shared by both master and pet here. "One month, girl. That's what the big boss feels would be a decent enough stay at this place. Better than suffering until September, right?"

Hedwig gave a soft hoot and flapped her wings. She couldn't wait until Harry would let her out after midnight... when few, if any, Muggles could bear witness to a snowy owl circling the neighbourhood.


	22. Padfoot's Tale

Slowly but surely, Harry fell back into the tedious routine of life at number four, Privet Drive. No longer could he use magic (hopefully until staying over at Sirius' place soon), no longer could he fly his broom (once again, that might change depending on Sirius' place), and no longer was he within the lively atmosphere of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was all bore and no fun at the Dursleys now. From Sunday to even Monday, the 21st, nothing besides the usual routine and annoyances occurred here.

_Well, so much for that prediction. Maybe Hermione was right after all._

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Harry half expected something like an Azkaban breakout (as with Sirius Black) to occur today. He waited patiently for any sort of news regarding another convict being on the run, but there was absolutely nothing. Perhaps this person, whoever they were, had simply been stealthier than Sirius? Perhaps it didn't involve Azkaban at all? Or could it be in another country, perhaps? Harry recalled Dumbledore having once mentioned that Voldemort was, at the time, currently hiding in Albania.

Over the next few weeks, Harry exchanged many a letter with his friends (and godfather) — whose mailed foods and treats helped stave off Harry's disgust at having to join in on Dudley's diet here. In fact, one of his friends actually came to check up on him, right under the Dursleys' noses.

"Who the—?" Uncle Vernon got the fright of his life as a black-haired policewoman stood at the door in early July. "I assure you, ma'am, that this neighbourhood —and especially this house and its residents — are absolutely fine. No need to pop in here at all! Although, I'd appreciate it if you could do something about that black dog that keeps prowling up and down the pavements. This reputable suburb is no place for stray animals, especially ones that might have rabies."

Harry peered around his uncle (which was no easy task, given the man's build) and saw the policewoman look directly at him — once Uncle Vernon turned to close the door.

"Get upstairs, boy," whispered Uncle Vernon, failing to see the woman give Harry a wink. The latter already knew, from Sirius' letters, that Nymphadora Tonks would be checking up on him at least once here. And it helped that none of the Dursleys would even consider calling the police station to confirm that this officer was legit; they were far too obsessed with pretending that all was well and normal.

It was some time later, around mid-July, that Harry prepared himself for the main event. "So, has there been any news regarding Sirius Black?"

Uncle Vernon looked up from his breakfast (or 'rabbit food', as he called it these days) and frowned. "What are you bringing up that old stuff for, boy? I thought the news said Black was innocent and living out the rest of his life somewhere?"

"He's more than just innocent," said Harry, smiling. "What would you do if, say, he rocked up here any day now?"

"What?" Dudley dropped whatever vegetable he was forced to eat and looked puzzled. "Mum, he's wasting time talking rubbish! Can I have his breakfast?"

Harry said nothing as Aunt Petunia snatched away the broccoli-filled plate before him. He simply waited and waited until, eventually, the doorbell rang. "I'll get it."

"Oh no you won't," said Aunt Petunia, gesturing for Dudley to check the door. He needed the exercise anyway. "Remember to say 'no thank you' if it's someone looking to sell something, Popkin."

Minutes later, Dudley gasped and came running back into the kitchen. "It-it's him!"

Both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shot up from their seats. "What? Who?"

"The news man!"

"They're... they're running a segment on our house?" Aunt Petunia looked horrified, perhaps due to not having cleaned her place as much as she'd like. "That's impossible! They can't do something like this without permission!"

"I'll have a friendly word with the news folks then, dear," said Uncle Vernon. He stood up, made his way out into the hall, yelped, then fled back into the kitchen. "You, boy! You just said... "

"Oh, is my godfather standing at the front door?" Harry smiled. _Suck on it, Muggles._

_"Godfather?" _Aunt Petunia looked baffled and alarmed. "You don't have a godfather! We wouldn't have been stuck with you otherwise!"

Uncle Vernon seemed to be doing some very quick thinking here. This wasn't surprising, after all, considering that he ran an entire company. "Wait, wait, wait... Are you telling me that that formerly escaped convict is your... your _godfather_?"

Aunt Petunia dropped the mug she'd been holding. "Can somebody explain?"

"Mum..." Dudley tripped while running past a corner of the table. "Ow! It's that news man —"

Uncle Vernon dropped his head and sighed. "What Dudders means to say is that Sirius Black, that prisoner who used to make the headlines, is currently standing at our front door, Petunia. We're dead serious."

"Phone the police, then!" said Aunt Petunia, to which Harry laughed.

"For what? You can't call the cops on an innocent man ringing your doorbell." There was some, deep part of Harry that enjoyed watching these Muggles squirm, but he gradually fought it off. "OK! OK! I'm sorry I forgot to mention this to you, folks."

"TOO DAMN RIGHT YOU ARE!" said Uncle Vernon, clutching his chest while leaning against a kitchen wall. Then, all of a sudden, the same brains which got him in charge of Grunnings did some more quick thinking again. "Hold on just a minute there, boy... If this ex-convict happens to be your godfather, then who appointed him?"

"My parents, obviously."

"Which means he's one of your kind, right? A maniac?"

Harry rolled his eyes and nodded. Then, all of a sudden, Dudley let out a scream and clutched his backside — the memory of Hagrid's spell still fresh in his mind — and Aunt Petunia looked almost catatonic once she'd finally sunk into a dining chair.

But as for Uncle Vernon, he looked as if Christmas had come early this year. "I see... so that means you no longer have to live here, right? Your godfather must've been compensated for being falsely locked up all those years... and compensation equals a house, maybe, and a house means accommodation for you _elsewhere_, Potter. You hear that, Petunia? This is it! We're finally rid of your sister's baggage! All those effing _owls_, half the lounge destroyed, puddings exploding about, and Dudley's tail... No more of that I say!"

"Mum, is it true? Is he leaving?" Dudley looked torn between terror and excitement. "Is he never coming back?"

"Do you remember what happened almost two years ago?" Harry asked, using his basic Occlumency practice to squash his anger. "Remember when you locked me up until September?"

The colour faded from Uncle Vernon's face. "That's... the time you tried explaining that some creature ruined my business deal, eh?" He carried on speaking as Harry nodded. "Yes, I remember..."

"So the same thing that happened because you tried forcing me to stay in this house will happen if you try the opposite." Harry needn't have said anything more; he was one hundred per cent sure that his aunt and uncle remembered full well when Albus Dumbledore had come to collect Harry that night. "I'll be staying at my godfather's for the rest of these holidays, yes, but this door had better be open for me next summer."

"B-but —"

Aunt Petunia remained staring at the table. "I don't know why, but that's what Dum — the old man wants. This boy will have to be allowed back into our home next summer, otherwise we'd have a lot of abnormal guests coming up our lawn."

The very idea of Dumbledore and company bringing unwanted attention to number four brought a horrified look to Uncle Vernon's face. "I — but — OK, fine! Pack your things and get the hell out of our house for now, Potter! Go talk to snakes or do whatever other crackpot tricks your kind does. But you'll keep that unnaturalness as far away from this family, this house, this neighbourhood, and this county as possible... you hear?"

"Just one problem with all this," said a voice from the doorway, which turned out to be a hooded Sirius. He looked pretty cool, in Harry's opinion, standing with his hands in his pockets like this. "I don't like your tone of voice with my godson."

"Now see here, you might've made the headlines while looking like a vagrant —" Uncle Vernon advanced on Sirius but jumped back (while Aunt Petunia and Dudley froze in terror) the moment Sirius drew his wand. "Y-y-you can't do that stuff..."

"Oh yeah? What's this, then?" Sirius shocked both the Dursleys and Harry by casting a Mending Charm on the mug which Aunt Petunia had dropped.

"Sirius! Are you ma—"

"Relax, Harry, we're sorted." Sirius seemed to be relishing the fear and near-panic attack he'd brought unto the Dursleys. "Now, _Muggles _— and that's what we call non-magical folk, in case you forgot — I'm sure you'll understand that I can't just catch a taxi from here, right? Or would you like all of your neighbours to be gossiping and staring at the ex-con coming out of your house?"

Harry scratched the back of his hair. "Hold on just a minute there... I didn't hear the sound of Apparition at all today. Can you do it silent, like Dumbledore?"

Sirius shook his head. "Let's just say that I popped into the park, before sunrise, and later Padfooted my way here."

"The what now?" Uncle Vernon looked more perplexed than terrified. "What's this code-word nonsense in my house? They teach you that in jail, Mr. Black?"

"You wouldn't last ten seconds against the Dementors in Azkaban, Mr. Dursley," said Sirius, and Aunt Petunia jumped in her seat. "Oh, right, you'd be Lily's sister, eh? Almost forgot you were here."

"DON'T MENTION THAT NAME —"

Uncle Vernon winced. "My ears, dear! Do calm down!"

But Aunt Petunia had broken out of her earlier terror, and she now stood up while pointing a shaking finger at Sirius. "You and that filthy long hair of yours... speaking of Azkaban and — and Dementors here! You're just like that awful boy... telling _her _about them... years ago!"

"My poor wife..." said Uncle Vernon, rubbing the hysterical woman's shoulders. "LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO HER, YOU ABNORMAL MANIACS! Sit down, Petunia, there's a good dear. I'll get you some" — He grimaced — "water to drink. And as for you two... GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"Right, Sirius, that's our cue to pack up and leav —" Harry stopped as Sirius stuck out his arm to block the doorway. "Huh?"

"Did you just" — Sirius gave Aunt Petunia a long, cold look — "compare me to... to _Severus_?"

"Snape?" Harry asked, and Aunt Petunia threw a mug so fast that Harry just about ducked. "How do you know —"

"DON'T COME BACK UNTIL NEXT SUMMER, AND DON'T EVER MENTION THAT ACCURSED WORD HERE AGAIN!"

"Mummy?" Dudley gaped in horror at his fuming mother. "Dad, Mummy's gone mad, hasn't she? What's a 'Snape'?"

"Dudley, if you _ever _mention that word again..." Aunt Petunia gave what Harry reckoned might be her first-ever glare at her son.

THUD!

Everyone turned to look in the direction of the living room, behind a wall, until Uncle Vernon finally managed to speak. "First a madman walks into my house and threatens my family, then my wife goes hysterical, and now my living room's gone bonkers too? WHAT THE DEVIL'S GOING ON HERE?"

BANG!

"That'd be our way home," said Sirius, taking Harry into the hall. "Look, there's no way I'm risking you with my questionable Side-Along-Apparition skills. We'll go back by Floo, which Arthur's so kindly managed to organise this one time, OK? I'll go upstairs and pack your things so long."

"Wait." Harry turned around to re-enter the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia sat sobbing at the table. "Are you all right?"

"Do us all a f-favour and leave," she said, to which both her husband and son advanced on Harry.

"YOU HEARD MY WIFE! GET OUT!"

"YOU MADE MUM SAD, POTTER!"

To make things even stranger, Harry walked right into a casually dressed Hermione in the hall. _This is a dream. I'll probably wake up and have a grapefruit-breakfast soon..._

"Harry! It's so good to see you again!" She pulled the bewildered boy into a hug. "How are you? And what's with all the screaming?"

"How did you get —"

"Here?" Hermione asked, finishing Harry's sentence. "Floo powder! Although we bumped our heads earlier, seeing as your family prefers an electric fire. Oh, speaking of whom... can I have a word with them?" She dashed past Harry and entered the kitchen. "Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley! And Dudley too!"

"Where have I seen you before?" Aunt Petunia asked, her expression as puzzled as Uncle Vernon and Dudley's. "There'd better not be a whole circus of you outside."

"Mum, where are all these people coming from?" Dudley asked, as a few redheads could be seen behind Harry in the hall. "I didn't see or hear a car!"

Harry turned to see Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, and Mr. Weasley standing in line; and while they had their handshakes and greets with Harry here, Hermione beamed while looking around the kitchen. "Wonderful! Our dishwasher's similar to yours, although not as economic. And that microwave over there? I think it's a tad more expensive than our one at home —"

"And how do you know all this stuff?" Uncle Vernon asked, looking most shocked at Hermione's 'normal' knowledge.

Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes. "She's likely a 'Muggle-born'."

"That's right, yes —"

"You'd better get out this house before I throw you out myself!" Aunt Petunia rose so fast from her seat that she knocked over a jug in the process. "OUT, FREAK! FREAK!"

"Don't you talk like that about my friend!" said Harry, running into the kitchen — and Aunt Petunia now rounded on him.

"You and her; just like my freak-sister and that _boy_!"

Harry didn't care; he'd get the story later from Sirius, perhaps. For now, he left the kitchen and rejoined a stunned Hermione in the hall.

"I don't understand..."

"Well, that's a first." Harry led Hermione all the way to the living room, while the Weasley children were busy scheming something in the hall. "I know what you tried, Hermione, but nothing will soften these people."

"Not even a thorough understanding of Muggle technology? I grew up as a Muggle, for goodness sake!"

"My favourite one." Harry gave a sad smile and pulled Hermione into a friendly hug. "Thanks for trying anyway. But, if you ask me, perhaps you unintentionally reminded my aunt of my mum. And she _hated _my mum, remember?" He stopped upon seeing Mr. Weasley crouched in a corner, near an end table. "Um, excuse me, sir?"

"Fascinating... amazing..." Mr. Weasley then stood up and walked towards the electric fire, which was likely repaired after the group's arrival. "Elec... tricity, yes. The current goes from these plugs and through these wires to light these fires. _Ingenious_, these Muggles! Harry, would you mind if I switched on this, er..."

"Television," said Hermione, pressing a button on the remote control. Almost immediately, the screen was filled with Muggles firing weapons at one another.

"Good Lord! Where's this happening?" Mr. Weasley stood mostly intrigued and partly horrified. "Muggles duel to the death, I see."

"It's a film, Mr. Weasley." Harry battled to contain his laughter while explaining that not everything was real on TV. "... this is one form of Muggle entertainment, you see? They're not all violent, though." Then he flicked through the channels until settling upon a racing film. "Oh look, that's what we discussed last year: drag racing." And he changed over one more time until finding a sports match. "Football, Mr. Weasley. They're not allowed to touch the ball with their arms and hands, well, except for the goalkeepers."

"And when they set up free-kicks, throw-ins, etc.," said Hermione, who'd watched a couple games with her parents before. "It's a very good pastime of Muggles, especially in our country. See how quick the ball rises and falls? There are obviously no Quaffle-like enchantments upon it; it's pure gravity and force on there."

Just then, the Weasley children entered the living room while sniggering in delight. "OK, I think we've seen enough of Harry's home for now," said Fred, gathering the rest at the fireplace. "Shall we be off, Dad?"

Mr. Weasley nodded, and he waited until Sirius returned with Harry's luggage before blasting open the fireplace — to which the Dursleys came running. "Did you just... WHAT?" Uncle Vernon gasped and fell against the wall behind him, as he saw the state of his living room. "That electric-fire installation wasn't free, you know!"

_"Incendio!"_ Sirius lit the fireplace and dumped in some Floo powder (taken from a pouch in his hoodie pocket). "Let's catch up at home then, Harry. Ahem, The True Home of Sirius Black!" He vanished, after which Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione followed in succession, leaving Mr. Weasley and Harry behind.

"Here, take some powder and go. I'll fix things up and Disapparate from here." Mr. Weasley handed a pouch of Floo powder to Harry. "Are you folks all right over there?"

None of the Dursleys said a word as they trembled in terror. It wasn't every day that people simply vanished into bright, emerald flames after all.

"Um, well, sorry for all the madness this morning and —" Harry saw something which caught his eye: a big, fat toffee wrapped in suspiciously bright colours. "Dudley, where'd you get that?"

"Get what?" Dudley stuck his hands into his back pocket. "How about you g-get out with your maniac-man over there!"

"Now really!" said Mr. Weasley, creasing his brows while speaking. "The least you can do is bid your cousin farewell. The same goes for the rest of you folks; he is your nephew, after all."

Seeing as Sirius had performed magic here without attracting any form of warning, Harry raised his wand (causing the Dursleys to huddle together in panic). _"__Accio Fred and George's sweets!"_

"Wait, what?" Mr. Weasley gasped as the toffee came flying towards Harry. "Good thinking there, Harry. I was wondering why they were all so eager to come along..."

It was one thing for the Dursleys to see the adults do magic, but Harry's casting served as a shocking reminder to them — and Uncle Vernon could barely speak through his panic. "Boy... unnaturalness... th-this house. They'll be sending you letter like after pudding incident."

"Not this time," said Harry, glancing at Mr. Weasley beside him.

"What gives you the right to do _that _in _this_ house, and on our DUDDERS?" Aunt Petunia asked, and it looked as if a row was just seconds away. "Why won't you people leave us alone already? How many freaks does it take to fetch one freak anyway?"

Harry knew there was only one way to, sort of, smooth things out here. Perhaps it was time to try the same sort of selflessness which Dumbledore had so highly praised last month... "You know those twins that were here? Real jokers they are. Bet they'd love to trick Mr. Diet over there with some sweets, eh?"

"Are you sure that's safe —" Mr. Weasley watched, astounded, as Harry unwrapped the toffee and shoved it into his mouth. Then, seconds later, Harry swore and gagged as his tongue grew at an alarming rate — much to the Dursleys' horror. "Wait, hold on! Don't try anything... not unless you're capable of non-verbal magic!"

It took more than a few seconds for Mr. Weasley to get the correct concentration of spells going, in order to counteract the toffee. And finally, once the commotion and Dursley-panic had subsided, Harry straightened up and whistled. "Whew, that could've been you, Dudley. Imagine trying to fix that without a wand... Imagine the injections and surgeries..."

"Harry, get going," said Mr. Weasley, ushering him towards the bright, orange flames nearby. "Not to worry, Dursleys; I'll be sure to have a nice word with my sons about wizard-Muggle relations."

_How ironic._ Harry tossed some Floo powder into the flames, stepped into the emerald glow, spoke his destination, and then vanished from the living room of number four, Privet Drive. Everything was a blur of fireplaces and nausea as Harry spun faster and faster through the Floo network...

* * *

At some point, Harry slowed during his slide — and he landed face-up in another living room. It had a soothing, lilac theme going across its walls, the couches were mainly red, and the floor was made of wood. A table stood at the front windows, where Hermione sat reading; a TV stood in a far corner, where the Weasley children were amusing themselves; and a few couches were spread around the room.

Fred looked over his couch to speak with Harry at the fireplace. "Anything interesting happen after we left?"

"That wasn't funny," said Harry, much to the Weasleys' surprise. "I'm gonna go check this place out."

"Hey, wait... what?" George looked puzzled as Harry exited the living room.

There were basically five rooms on the ground floor: a kitchen and dining room together (to the left of the front door), the living room (to the right of the front door), a study, and two toilets. The hall ran in an almost plus-like shape between these rooms, and a staircase stood, facing right, at the opposite end from the front door — between the study and toilets.

Harry then went upstairs, to the first floor, and saw a long, broad hall running from the staircase to a window overlooking the front pathway. There were six rooms up here (three on each side of the hall), each marked with a golden plaque on their door: Harry's, a spare room, Lupin's, Sirius', and two bathrooms. Harry and Lupin's rooms were opposite each other (with the staircase between them), the two bathrooms were opposite each other, in the middle of the bedrooms, and Sirius and the spare room were opposite each other — at the front side of the house.

It was then that Harry heard a faint popping noise coming from downstairs, which was followed by Mr. Weasley shouting in his admonishments.

"THAT WASN'T FUNNY AT ALL, FRED! If Harry hadn't relinquished your toffee from that Muggle boy, that would've caused a serious stain on family relations!"

"Don't you mean 'strain'?" asked Fred, although Mr. Weasley was clearly not in the mood for jokes.

"STAIN! Which is exactly the mess you would've caused had that Muggle eaten one of your products! I spend half my life campaigning against the ill-treatment of Muggles, and my own sons dabble in Muggle-baiting?"

"What do you mean 'relinquished'?" George could be heard asking. "Didn't that great bullying git pick it up and stuff himself?"

"No! Someone with brains actually cast a Summoning Charm, for which he won't be punished, and seized that product of yours! You should've seen the looks on those Muggles' faces when Harry's tongue grew up to a foot long —"

"What?" Ron gasped.

"_Harry_ ate the bait?" Ginny could be heard asking.

"To show his cousin what would've happened to him, yes!" Mr. Weasley continued admonishing his children over the next few minutes, but Harry wasn't listening. He'd just come across a smiling Sirius in the first-floor hall.

"Forever the hero, aren't you?" Sirius took Harry towards the latter's bedroom door. "Now _this _was a real struggle; the biggest and toughest decision of my life. You'd've made my idiot brother green with envy at this..." He opened the door and showed Harry a large, spacious bedroom filled with Slytherin décor. These colours were everywhere; on the walls, ceiling, floor, and even the bed.

"Wow, this is brilliant! Must've been painful for you, though."

"Worse than the Cruciatus Curse," said Sirius, as they entered the room. "Not that I've actually experienced it, I think. Listen, you were wondering how your aunt knew about Snape? How about I just give you the whole story of him and your mother?" He gestured for Harry to take a seat on the bed, which stood in the corner between two windows. "From what I heard, Lily and her sister used to have a rather tense relationship in their youth — especially after your mother showed signs of magic."

"No surprise there," said Harry, kicking off his shoes and sitting with his back to the wall. "I'll bet her parents were right proud of her then, much like Hermione's mum and dad."

"Not only that, but, I'm sure you've noticed that Petunia didn't really get much from the looks department, unlike Lily." Sirius snorted. "Now that's one thing my family could never complain about, of course."

"Yeah, Mrs. Malfoy's not too bad, Tonks looks great — however she actually looks — and I'm sure the other Black-related ladies are hot as well."

"Er, right... So, the story goes that Snape used to be quite the stalker for Lily in the years before they became 'friends', which was before starting school. Yeah, I couldn't believe it either, but Lily and Severus were decent enough pals back then..." He moved on to retelling the Sorting ceremony, and Harry listened with his full attention now.

"Were they... still friends thereafter?"

"Snivellus was devastated, of course, but I don't know how he ever expected a decent girl like Lily to end up in _that _Slytherin." Harry frowned, and Sirius continued. "There's a clear difference between that time and yours, Harry. There was no son-of-James to bring out the best of Slytherin back then, oh no. Trash like Lucius Malfoy, etc. held all the sway and influence in those years, not to mention the rampant admiration towards Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters."

"Yeah, but, that's not how the Hat places people in houses. It's got far less, if anything, to do with external affairs than the qualities of the person in question," said Harry.

"Sure, OK. So, Lily and Snivelly had a rollercoaster of a friendship over the years. One was a Dark-magic-Death-Eater-admiring git, and the other a fairly decent kid — doesn't take much brains to figure that out. One was a bitch, and the other a witch." Sirius laughed, although Harry was far too engrossed in the story to find anything amusing. "Sorry, sorry... getting sidetracked here. Um, Lily had her growing issues with Snape's friends, sense of humour, and interests — no surprises there — and she wasn't afraid to tell him, behind the scenes.

"In public, though, your mother made a variety of excuses for ickle Sev, such as 'He's just a little misguided', 'It's his friends', or 'He doesn't mean it', etc. But nobody could understand why the hell Lily Evans — our unofficial starlet — was hanging out with a drain-turtle of a Slytherin. I mean, hell, poor James was one of the most confused ones over the years... and so were we! Plenty of students thought Lily was just using the idiot to up her Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts marks, but Lily wasn't a scarlet woman — nor was she a stupid bimbo."

"She was prefect and Head Girl," said Harry, feeling incensed at such insults towards his late mother. "Lucky I wasn't around to shut those backbiters up."

"James did that pretty well enough himself already." Sirius gave a look of fond remembrance, as he sat at the head of the bed. "Ah, he used to hex whoever the heck he felt like hexing — but Lily-haters got it the worst, usually. There were one or two occasions when he even took on our own housemates in defence of Lily, which brought a fair few headaches for Professor McGonagall..."

Harry got a sudden image of attacking Malfoy and friends in defence of Hermione.

"... Anyway, life carried on and that mismatched pair continued their dwindling friendship over the years. And that was even through crap like Avery, Mulciber, etc. — Snape's pals — using Dark magic for their entertainment. Do you know how many girls they used one of Snivelly's spells on?"

"What spell?"

"That _Levicorpus _thing that Moony taught you... there were plenty of rumours going around that Mr. Greasy-git taught it to his friends, which I don't find hard to believe. Snape knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the seventh-years did, and his choice of friends — minus Lily — spoke volumes."

"But.. is _Levicorpus _really 'Dark magic'?"

This gave Sirius reason to pause before speaking. "I suppose not entirely, but their _intentions_ more than made up for it. Plenty of girls — Muggle-borns, usually — found themselves hoisted in the air with their knickers in clear view. And if you ask me, I'd say some of those stunts might've progressed to showing even more... Look, I know our gang wasn't the nicest of pranksters, Harry, but even we had our limits!"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "But not for Snape's boys, right?"

"Muggle-born and, in fewer cases, half-blood attacks were the norm for them, yes. If your Granger-girlfriend was at school back then, well, she'd probably suffer a Full Body-Bind, _Levicorpus_, Severing Charm, or any other kind of humiliating scenario. Harry, I could go on — but I'd rather you don't excessively hate your Head of House for his choice of friends back then. They were all a bunch of creepy sons of bitches, that's for sure."

"Oh, come on! Just one more example of their nonsense, please?"

Sirius sighed. "Imagine a Muggle-born — often a younger one — desperately needing to use the loo, so she's hurrying down the corridor. Now imagine a creepy-arse, soon-to-be-Death-Eater bloke hitting her with a spell in an ambush. Pick your choice of scenario: stunned, paralysed, hoisted up by the ankle... or perhaps get her robes sliced from the waist down."

"Damn."

"It didn't happen every day, though, 'cos those scum were clever enough to avoid trouble — especially when the big boys and girls were around." Sirius rubbed his chin while in thought. "OK, let's get back to the Lily-Snivelly friendship... You remember when I once said it took us the best part of three years to finally become Animagi?"

Harry nodded; their conversation in the Shrieking Shack remained fresh in his mind.

"Well, Snape eventually stuck his nose where it didn't belong — as usual — after we established regular meet-ups with Moony on a full moon. The hook-nosed idiot became very interested — wait, didn't I already tell you all this?"

"I was hoping to hear it all again," said Harry, sitting cross-legged in eager anticipation. "OK, tell me the parts I don't know."

"That'd be when Snape tried giving hints to Lily — especially after that incident where I 'let slip' how to get into the tunnel on a full moon. Hey, did I force Snivellus to go down there? No." Sirius snorted. "He's the one who grew obsessed with trying to get us expelled somehow, he's the one who studied Defence Against the Dark Arts relentlessly — including werewolves, and he's the one who saw Madam Pomfrey leading a sickly, shaking Remus towards the Whomping Willow... _on a full-moon night._"

"But you still gave him a dangerous tip."

Sirius shrugged. "Harry, have you ever experienced Snape stalking and trying to fish out everything you and your buddies do? Yes? Well, perhaps you never had it as bad as we did back then. Anyway, things reached their peak after one of our O.W.L.s..."

Now it was Harry's turn to explain some of what he knew, so he told of what Mrs. Parkinson had said about that day.

"Ah, Holly Parkinson... or 'Greengrass', as she was still back then. Creeped me out a bit at school; always sitting in a corner reading a book. But those eyes..." He shuddered. "That witch could watch people like a hawk. Look, Harry, your second-girlfriend's mum only got about half the story right. Firstly, she wasn't around when Snape destroyed his friendship with Lily — by calling her a 'filthy little Mudblood' after she'd convinced James to cease his attacks."

Harry blinked and sat forward from the wall. "Snape did _what_?"

"Oh shit, I shouldn't've told you that. Hey, we were all young and stupid — well, Snape's still stupid — so that was then. And it wasn't entirely the greasy piece of slime's fault, though, now that I think about it again." Sirius struggled to bring out the next few words. "James, er, kinda provoked him along the way..."

"That's still no excuse to attack someone's blood like that."

"Lily took it surprisingly well then, given some of her more _furious _moments — which you've inherited, bless you. You know, there was this one time when James mimicked and made fun of her — good naturedly — in the common room, and Lily threw her textbook so fast that James could barely duck in time." Sirius laughed but stopped upon seeing Harry's expression. "Please don't screw up your academics by mentioning any of this to Snape. Lemme tell you what really happened afterwards, unlike Holly the Hawk's idea..." And he now mentioned what he'd heard from Lily during their time at Godric's Hollow: that Snape had actually tried to apologise after the 'Mudblood incident'.

This simmered down Harry's fury a bit, although he still scoffed. "Too little; too late, if you ask me."

Sirius smiled. "By the way, when James went at Snape that day — he ended up using _Levicorpus _on him a couple times. Turnabout's fair play, as they say."

"So _that's _why Snape went hysterical when I used that spellon him!" Harry laughed; he couldn't believe the coincidence. "Should I apologise to him?"

"Are you nuts? Don't mention it to anybody, if you can." Sirius stood up from the bed. "In case you're wondering, Remus is still out and about wherever. It's quite safe to wander around close by, just don't try looking for your Parkinson-friend's place."

Harry got up too. "You just said it was safe to wander around."

"Yeah, but Northumberland's far bigger than you'd think. Oh, and I'm afraid I can't allow any of those Slytherin pals of yours to come visit — especially not with their friends and family." He saw the look on Harry's face and sighed. "Well, that is until Remus and I learn how to put up some decent Anti-Apparition enchantments."

"Oh, I see." Harry walked towards the door, with Sirius. "Scared they might go evil and ambush us in the dead of night or something, huh? Why can't Dumbledore, or whoever else, come put up some spells, then?"

"He did, but not against Apparition and Disapparition. Mad-Eye suggested it'd be best to disconnect the Floo here, instead of trying to board it up or whatever. So Arthur's gonna get us disconnected soon." Sirius led the way out into the first-floor hall and down the staircase. "Today was a once-off for the whole Dursley-thing, but I can't sleep knowing anyone could just rock up in our living room at any minute."

Sirius' thought process was both understandable and confusing to Harry at the same time. "You're tripping, man. Didn't you say you suck at Side-Along-Apparition? How are we gonna travel and stuff?"

"That depends," said Sirius. "For the World Cup, we're taking a Portkey that'll be delivered on your birthday."

Harry gaped. "Are you _serious_?"

"Black, yes. It's my second present for you since that Firebolt; we're watching both the last semi-final and the final itself later on. Let's see..." He withdrew a newspaper-cutting from this morning, from his pocket, which showed the quarter-final stage of the World Cup. "On one side we've got Ireland against Uganda, then Peru against Transylvania. But the semi-final after that isn't the one we're booked for. And on the other side, it's the U.S. against Romania, then Luxembourg against Bulgaria... then comes the first of our two booked games."

Harry checked the date; the second semi-final would be on the 20th of August, with a three-day-maximum limit on its duration (if the Snitch remained at large). After that, the team with the highest points would qualify for the final, on the 25th. "Can't wait!"

"In the meantime, remember what I said about keeping that Snape-story to yourself, OK?"

Harry nodded, and he made his way down the hall before turning left into the living room — where Hermione was currently reading while laying across a corner couch. "Where's everyone? I thought the Weasleys were staying over?"

"They were," said Hermione, barely looking up from her book. "But their dad was far too furious over that Muggle-baiting incident. You, on the other hand, shouldn't've eaten that dangerous sweet. Who knows what could've happened? We're not at Hogwarts or St. Mungo's, Harry!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Harry took whatever free space remained on the couch. "So, don't you plan on heading back home?"

"I'll be staying for maybe a week or two here, if you don't mind. Sirius found loads of interesting books to read; fourth to sixth-year-level included!" She placed her book upon her lap and smiled. "Then there's Professor Lupin: a valuable source of information too! Just think how much we could learn in the meantime!"

Harry smiled. "Sure, stay here for everything except the company of a friend. It's OK; I understand."

"I'll see if I can free up some time on my schedule for you," said Hermione, thoroughly amused.


	23. Meeting up at the World Cup

"All right," said Sirius, as the group of four sat at the long, dining table in the afternoon. "Which one of us is in charge of late lunch today?"

The dining room was basically connected to the kitchen; the entire room being a pleasant shade of lilac.

"Not me," said Lupin, speaking from behind a newspaper. "I'm no expert in cooking for more than a couple people, sorry."

"Harry?" Sirius asked.

Harry gave a sly little grin as he snapped his fingers at Hermione. "Kitchen, please." Then he ducked as a salt-shaker flew over his head. "I was just joking!"

Sirius and Lupin both laughed, until the latter spoke. "Perhaps you can make it up by doing lunch? I'd suggest putting an extra bit of effort into Hermione's meal, as an additional apology."

"Hmph, he'll need more than that, Professor."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Come off it. There's no 'Professor' nonsense around here; it's either 'Remus' or 'Moony'. And that goes for you and your 'Lupin' thing too, Harry."

Lupin looked slightly embarrassed. "There's no need to force first-name basis here, Sirius. The children can call me whatever they'd like — provided it's respectful, of course."

By the evening of Harry's first day at Sirius' place, he'd comfortably memorised the layout of this cottage and its surroundings. There were two floors, an attic, and a cellar inside. As for its exterior, the cottage was built from greyish stonework and was surrounded by a spacious expanse of grounds, which — much like Pansy's place — was surrounded by trees and hedges.

"See the exterior?" he asked, while standing beside Harry in the grounds that evening. "Looks like a 'proper' Black's home, eh? But come inside and it's anything but the dark and gloomy hellhole I grew up in. I like it cool and calm —"

"— which explains the style," Harry said. "The house is kinda like you."

Later that night, Harry joined Hermione as they decorated her room — which soon took on a pinkish-lavender theme. "You'll need more than this to apologise for that sexist remark," said Hermione, while sitting on her pink-covered bed. "I'll let you decide on your next bit of penitence."

Harry seized the opportunity. "I'll just do your toenails, then."

"W-what?"

"Penitence, right?" Harry sat before the bed and clipped Hermione's toenails, which were slightly too long. "Quit moving around so much."

"Stop! OK, fine! You're forgiven!"

The door opened as Sirius stepped inside, then he whistled upon seeing Harry knelt before the bed. "Marriage proposal already? You're quick on the attack there, Harry."

Lupin eventually arrived and looked over Sirius' shoulder, in the doorway. "What's with all the laughter? Oh, er, I'd suggest vanishing those nail-clippings, you two. 'Elementary personal-safety', as Mad-Eye would say."

"Neither of us can vanish anything yet. That's fifth-year level," said Harry, although Hermione fidgeted with her fingers.

"I might've, um, practised a bit on simple objects." She drew her wand and looked extremely apprehensive. "Are you sure we're not going to get into trouble for this?"

Harry thought he heard a faint popping noise coming from downstairs.

"The Ministry has no choice but to ignore the Trace from here," said Lupin, speaking as if addressing a student in class. "They know they can't expect us to forgo all magic just because there are children around. Imagine the consequences of imposing such a rule across society?"

"It'd cause one hell of a riot," said Sirius. "So the two of you are free to practise your spells, potion-making, and whatever else here. Just, er, try to minimise the duelling, OK? Never know when some nosy sod might start questioning the use of Stunners and stuff."

Lupin looked surprised, while leaning against the wall beside the doorway. "Never thought you'd be the overly cautious one."

A familiar voice came from the hall, behind them. "Wotcher, guys! Work ended early, so..." Tonks saw Hermione about to cast a spell. "No need to be so nervous. Hopkirk's lot focuses more on Muggle-dwelling areas — like the Dursleys, etc."

"And whatever happened to common courtesy?" Sirius turned to face his cousin, who had shoulder-length black hair today. "You could've at least announced your Apparition in my house, you know."

"And _you_ should've been keeping an ear out for pops and cracks." Tonks looked quite proud of herself for having remembered something. "'Dark wizards won't announce their presence with friendly words', as Mad-Eye once said."

Lupin patted Sirius on the shoulder. "She's got a point there, Padfoot."

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Harry and Hermione attempting to vanish whatever small objects weren't needed around the house. Just the thought of being able to use magic freely, and to hold their wands at the ready, felt like a blessing to both students. The possibilities were relatively endless these days, especially with Lupin and Sirius being on hand to offer tips and advice.

However, not everything was as perfect as Harry would've liked, and the hardest part of his holidays was trying to explain Sirius' decision to Pansy and friends — via owl post. It was even harder for Harry to read their replies, which were forever so understanding and supportive... not to mention sarcastic as well. He really missed those girls these days.

The weeks moved on with Harry and Hermione reading, practising, learning, and simply having a great time at Sirius' place. They even tried their hand at potion-making but were quite limited by the leftover ingredients in their trunk, as travelling to Diagon Alley wasn't worth the effort at this stage.

* * *

Harry's fourteenth birthday was by far the best one he'd had thus far. Not only was it the first birthday he'd spent in the company of Sirius, Lupin, Hermione, and Tonks, but it was also the first one away from the Dursleys — as far as he could remember. In addition, all the Weasleys bar Percy — who was far too busy at the Ministry — came to visit on Saturday, the 31st of July.

"Happy birthday, dear!" Mrs. Weasley grabbed Harry into a hug the moment she stepped through the front door. "Been eating and keeping well?"

Harry barely said 'yes' before being greeted by Mr. Weasley, the twins, Bill, Charlie, and even Ron — which was a tad awkward in itself.

"Er, happy birthday, then," Ron said, shaking Harry's hand quite formally in the hall. "I hear you got tickets to both a semi-final and the final! That's brilliant!"

It wasn't every day that Harry struck much conversation with Ron Weasley. The bulk of their previous interactions had involved the Philosopher's Stone and Chamber of Secrets events. "Yeah, been a bit of a surprise for me as well. Who do you think's gonna be in that semi?"

"Bulgaria's a definite yes, especially with Viktor Krum as their Seeker. He's way better than you, no offence. Not sure about America against Romania, though, that one's far too close to call." Ron turned left to enter the packed dining room, leaving Harry to simply shrug off the earlier remark. "Look at all this stuff to eat!"

"Happy birthday, Professor!" Ginny almost ran through the front door to give Harry a long, affectionate hug. "I'd totally give you the best present of the day if, well..." Her smile faded a slight bit. "If I had the coin."

"Hey, it's not always about gifts and coin," said Harry, returning the hug with equal affection. He saw the truth all too well in these words, which was why it wasn't so much the haul of presents than the company that made this his best birthday so far.

"OK, well, in that case... let's go fly outside," said Ginny, walking straight down the hall towards the back door, beside the staircase at its end. "I heard you've been having a go on that Firebolt —"

"Mainly at night, and with both the broom and me being Disillusioned."

"Oh, I guess that makes sense." Ginny reconsidered the notion of flying around in broad daylight here, regardless of the trees and hedges surrounding the grounds. "Let's go sit at the table then!"

The long, dining table was capable of seating up to twelve people, in the corner of the dining room. Harry therefore found himself a spot somewhere amidst the noisy crowd of Mr. Weasley, the twins, Bill, Charlie, Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Lupin, and Ginny.

"Mum, you can't seriously be cooking at a time like this!" said Ron, gawking across the room at Mrs. Weasley wandering up and down the counters. "There's more than enough food and dessert on this table."

Sirius turned to look at Mrs. Weasley, who stood peering out one of the two windows overlooking the front garden. "Whoever you're expecting is likely to arrive by Floo, Molly. Nobody would bother Apparating when we're on a temporary connection again."

Minutes later, a faint popping noise announced a green-haired Tonks' arrival in the dining room (much to everyone's surprise). "Nailed it! Happy birthday, little Auror-fighter!" And she pulled Harry into such a tight hug that he struggled to break free. "Whoops! Been messing around with upper-body strength again."

"Yeah," said Harry, rubbing his neck. "Must be nice changing anything on a whim."

Mrs. Weasley was simply delighted to see Tonks, and she showed her to a seat in no time. "Sit, dear, sit! There's more than enough food to go around! We'll have to extend the table and add some chairs, though; Harry's definitely getting a good share of guests on his first free birthday."

Another faint popping noise could be heard, and this time it was a scowling Moody who'd arrived in the kitchen. "Absolutely foolish, this, leaving the place open to Apparition." Then he drew his wand and began walking around the ground floor, while setting up some protective enchantments. "And don't even think of taking these down, Sirius. You too, Lupin."

There were even some people who Harry had never seen before in his life that turned up for his birthday today. These included a bald black wizard, who wore a single gold hoop in his ear. "Congratulations on your birthday, Harry Potter."

"Um, thanks." Harry shook the mysterious wizard's hand after standing up from his seat. Then the man spoke while looking over the heads of many chatting guests.

"Hey, Sirius, I guess you were right. He does look a lot like James after all — except the eyes." He turned to look at the puzzled Harry. "Kingsley Shacklebolt. You'll understand if I can't stay too long?"

Harry was briefly joined by a few other neatly dressed, mysterious guests as well — including Hestia Jones, Dedalus Diggle (whom he'd met before), Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, and Elphias Doge. And although none of them lingered around for more than half an hour each, Harry was grateful for their company nonetheless.

_It's like I'm famous or something._

"Hey, Harry!" Tonks struggled to get his attention, even though she sat right opposite him near the middle of the table. "Could I speak with you for a moment? Got something important that needs to be said, in private."

Harry stood up and glimpsed a curious look on Hermione's face as he followed Tonks out into the hall. From here, she took him down its end, up the staircase, and into his room. "If this is about all the underage magic we've been doing here, Miss Soon-to-be-Auror —"

Tonks shut the door and placed an Imperturbable Charm upon it. Then she took a seat at the silver chair near Harry's desk, which stood in the corner opposite that of Harry's bed. "So, must be nice to finally settle down into a normal, un-deprived life, huh?"

Harry nodded, although he remained perplexed over this random conversation.

"OK, so, both Remus and Sirius are really swell blokes, yeah, but they're lacking in a few key areas of your life. You're fourteen now, big little-man, which makes it three years until you're of age." Tonks gave him an appraising sort of look; her dark eyes scanning him up and down as Harry remained seated on his bed. "Let's cut straight to the point. Tell me, Harry, how many girlfriends do you have?"

"None at the moment, I guess? Although, Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger are probably top of my list..."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. All bark and so little bite." Tonks sat with one leg crossed over the other. "Must be tough living in a girls' dormitory these days, huh? How often do you wank in the bathroom?"

"W-what?"

"No beating around the bush here; this is the real talk. Stuff that neither Sirius nor Remus might end up getting out." She eyed him carefully, if not amusingly. "You do know how to rub one off, do you? Surely you don't sit all pent-up like a shut, boiling pot all day?"

Harry didn't know whether to take this conversation as a joke or feel slightly uneasy at discussing such things with Nymphadora Tonks, of all people. "Er, yeah. What's it to you?"

"Fourth year's no joke, Harry, and neither's this age you're going through. Can I assume you got the birds-and-the-bees talk before?" She saw the amused look on Harry's face and snorted. "Of course you have. I'd be concerned if you didn't, somehow, hear it in some way by now."

"I... really wasn't expecting to discuss such stuff on my birthday."

Tonks smiled. "Last thing I'd like is for you to end up making a hell of a mistake and knocking up some skank who's too embarrassed, or spiteful, to stop that shit from happening. Really, Harry, I'm sure there are more than a few girls who'd like a share of the Boy-Who-Lived. You're rich, godson to a richer — and also single — guy, quite cute, and just a little naive when it comes to relationships..."

Once their private talk was over, Harry and Tonks returned to the dining room to rejoin the party. Some questions came their way, as expected, which Tonks waved off as having given Harry the 'girlfriend-talk'.

"That's very mature of you, Tonks," said Mrs. Weasley at the table. "You ought to take a leaf out of her book, Sirius."

"Excuse me?" Sirius looked highly offended. "I'm perfectly capable of giving my godson advice too, thanks. Hey, Harry, I wouldn't mind it if you hung up pictures of Muggle women in bikinis, or something, in your room."

Everyone but Mrs. Weasley (who frowned) and Moody (looking as battle-ready as ever) laughed at the table. Then it was Bill who managed to swallow his pudding and speak. "So, about their Portkey, Dad..."

"Oh, right, yes." Mr. Weasley withdrew a pouch containing a golden ticket. "Here you go. It won't blow away, don't worry; but it'll only activate on the morning of the 19th."

Charlie leaned forward to have a closer look at the ticket. "It's not every day you get a Portkey with that kind of delay, Dad."

"Yes, well, it took a good bit of Ministry-work to get this one sorted," said Mr. Weasley. "All right, so... who's in the mood to watch a bit of tellyvision after all these lovely treats?"

With the morning of his birthday having been spent at Sirius' place, Harry spent the remaining afternoon over at The Burrow. Here, he hopped onto his Firebolt and seized the opportunity to have a go within the orchard, in broad daylight. He even flew a few rounds against Charlie and, as expected on a Firebolt, came out on top in their Chaser contest.

"Next time I get my hands on a Snitch," said Charlie, "I'll be sure to organise something more Seeker-related for us over the holidays. Maybe a rematch?"

"Yeah," said Harry, hovering on his Firebolt. "And maybe I'll make it fair on the brooms too. Nimbus or Cleansweeps for us both, then."

* * *

Nothing lasts forever, and Harry's birthday soon reached its end as the month of August finally arrived. In addition, Hermione opted to spent the next few weeks with her parents at home, which left Harry in the company of Sirius and Lupin from here on out.

"I think Hermione actually likes you," said Sirius to Harry, as the trio sat at the breakfast table in early August. "It's hard to tell, though, considering how she's forever into her studies and stuff."

Harry stirred his cereal while speaking. "Tonks said Hermione will come around whenever she's ready... whatever that means. No need to rush in like a charging bull."

"Remus? Nothing to say on the matter?"

Lupin gave a 'don't-look-at-me' look with regards to this topic. "Just be a gentleman and treat her well, I guess. Any other questions? No problem. But as for relationships" — He chuckled — "I'm about as useful as Snape on this matter."

"Wow, no need to set the bar _that _low on yourself," said Sirius, raising his brows. "At least you never killed off any of your friendships with the 'Mudblood' word —" Lupin shot an alarmed look at him, and Sirius simply rolled his eyes in response. "Whatever. I already told Harry about the whole Lily-Snivelly story anyway."

"You... you did?" Lupin blinked, and then he quickly turned to face the narrow-eyed Harry. "Please don't go bringing up that issue with Professor Snape. Honestly, Harry, that's one friendship that ended with such disappointment that your mother still lamented it at Godric's Hollow, years later."

"Yeah, I know."

"And I'm sure Professor Snape hasn't forgotten about it either," said Lupin, raising his voice just as Sirius was about to speak. "Have you, Sirius, forgotten that Snape never had much friends at school?"

Sirius scoffed. "I wonder why?"

"He was a Dark-Arts-obsessed creep for sure, yes," said Lupin. "But he was fairly decent with Lily over the years, except for failing to take her advice." He sighed. "Listen, Harry, Sirius doesn't always get the whole picture straight —"

"Hey!"

"— but if you ask me, I might be inclined to think that Lily just _might _have overreacted a tiny bit," said Lupin, much to Sirius' surprise. "What I mean to say is... don't go holding a nasty grudge on your own Head of House. We were all idiots back then, Harry... and yes, I'm sorry to say that that includes James as well."

Sirius nodded. "I already told Harry that; he knows we're not proud of everything we did."

"Ever thought of apologising to Snape, then?" Harry asked, causing both Lupin and Sirius to laugh in disbelief.

"That'd _never _work."

"No way in hell, sorry."

Harry didn't quite know what to feel as the month of August moved on. On the one hand, it was nothing less than sheer perfection to be away from the Dursleys these days; but, deep down, there was forever this creeping guilt stirring within Harry. Was he a tad too vindictive against Severus Snape last year? The man did have some valid reasons for all those punishments and remarks back then... sort of.

Moving on, Harry took pride in his decent bit of progress over the next week or so. This included a fair bit of improvement on his weak-but-decent Shield Charm, causing Sirius and Lupin to suggest that Harry had a particular knack for it.

"You might think that's weak," said Lupin, after he'd smashed Harry's shield with a powerful Knockback Jinx, "but it's actually better than what Mad-Eye said most of the older students are capable of."

Sirius was about to throw his own jinx down the hall, at Harry. "You're only fourteen and already coping this well... let that sink in. So, shall we have another go now?"

During the final week leading up to the 19th, Harry resumed his efforts in convincing Lupin to join them for the World Cup. But these were fruitless efforts in the end, seeing as Lupin had already been outed by Pettigrew a while back. That, and the fact that the next full moon was on the 21st meant there was absolutely no chance of changing Lupin's mind.

"I'll curl up on the couch, watch some TV, and maybe run a few laps around the house too," Lupin said, while the trio sat in the living room. "Thanks for the countless offers, though."

"What if we smuggled you in under some Polyjuice Potion? We'll bring extras for after your transformation," Harry said, to which Sirius looked hopeful.

"That could work, yeah! The only problem is getting a last-minute ticket and thinking up a decent fake-identity for Remus. Wait, why not just use the Invisibility Cloak? It could work to smuggle Moony in with the Portkey —"

"Really, you two, there's no need to go out of your way for something so trivial. You go on ahead and I'll stay home, OK?" He saw the look on Harry's face and smiled. "I could always find a way to watch your Quidditch matches at school anyway. Better than the World Cup, I'd say."

Harry looked puzzled. "But, I haven't even played any matches when you were still teaching."

"Exactly, I just know you're that good, Harry."

With just a few more days left until the 19th, Harry spent many an evening thinking about the past. He thought of what Sirius and Lupin had said regarding Lily and Snape, which Harry tried likening to his own friendship with Hermione Granger. The similarities were astonishing: both Harry and Snape were half-bloods coming from Muggle-like backgrounds (although Harry had nary a clue about Snape's home-life), both Hermione and Lily were talented Muggle-borns with their ups and downs — personality-wise, and both friendships crossed the boundaries between Gryffindor and Slytherin.

There were more than a few differences, though, including how these two friendships had formed. Harry knew that in Snape's case, things kicked off before Hogwarts — a neat little headstart. But as for Harry and Hermione, that friendship had started on the Hogwarts Express, back when Harry sat alone in his compartment. It felt like a lifetime ago that Harry had once been lonely, deprived, and devoid of any affection in his life. Now there were people like Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Hermione, Cho, Ginny, Pansy and her gang, and all the others who filled the void in Harry's life.

* * *

Harry got up at around half past seven on Tuesday, the 19th. He'd just begun wondering about Hermione's upcoming birthday, in exactly a month, when Sirius announced that breakfast was ready. All in all, the morning proved to be a bit of a rush as both Sirius and Harry made sure to triple-check their camping gear.

"Looks like we're all set!" said Harry, and he shot another quick look at Lupin sitting at the table. "There's still time to get smuggled in with us, Remus."

Lupin shook his head and finished today's dose of Wolfsbane Potion. "Do ensure that Sirius behaves himself out there."

"Ticket's glowing, Harry... Time to go! Do take care of yourself, and the house, while we're gone, Moony."

Having never travelled by Portkey before, Harry found the sensation utterly bizarre as he left Sirius' place and, eventually, landed on a deserted stretch of moor somewhere. The warmth of a cosy cottage was swiftly replaced by a breezy chill out here; the sounds of breakfast and a crackling fire replaced by a distant noise somewhere.

"And here's the one we've been waiting for," said a voice nearby. "Twenty to eight; special delivery from Northumberland."

Harry turned and saw a pair of tired-looking wizards standing beside a box of used Portkeys. The pair were dressed rather inexpertly as Muggles, with one gentleman wearing a suit and galoshes, and the other clad in an outfit featuring a poncho. Their job was to discard the used Portkeys, register the World Cup's visitors, and direct the new arrivals to their designated campsites. For simplicity's sake, Sirius had booked both himself and Harry under the name 'Black' — which was relatively easy for the kilted wizard to find on his parchment list.

"Well, well, Sirius Black and Harry Potter..." — The wizard's eyes darted to the scar on Harry's forehead — "your site's around the north-western part of the first field. About a quarter mile's walk over there; ask for Mr. Roberts at the cottage."

As Harry and Sirius made their way across the damp grass towards the small cottage up ahead, Sirius began chatting so excitedly that he accidentally tripped over a stone and tumbled through a veil of mist. "Damn!"

Harry laughed. "Better to fall forwards than backwards, I'd say." And he helped his godfather up as they carried on with their journey. "Let's pay the guy and go find our campsite already."

Ten minutes later, the pair got past the suspicious Muggle and made their way towards a mass of tents — which were spread across this misty field. It wasn't hard to understand Mr. Roberts' suspicion, given the obvious signs of magic (or 'abnormalities', as Uncle Vernon would say) on some of these tents around here.

"It's like they don't even care about secrecy," said Harry, walking down a pathway between the many tents out here. He was pretty sure that Muggle ones didn't have chimneys, sunbaths, weather vanes, or anything of the sort on or around them. "There aren't any Muggles camping among us, I hope?"

Sirius shook his head. "Thankfully, no. But that doesn't stop the Ministry from trying to do their job. Look at those poor folks running up and down trying to curb any magic. Must be tiring as hell."

There seemed to be more empty spots than pitched tents around here, which Sirius explained as being reserved for those who'd yet to arrive. Tickets for the previous games were relatively rare when compared to the final, and not many folks were willing to camp on Muggle ground for this long.

"Excuse me? Are you Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived?"

Harry blinked and spun around; there were at least a dozen witches and wizards — mostly around his age — who converged to have a look at him. They didn't look nor sound like anyone he'd seen at Hogwarts, though, and it was hard to tell where they were from — given their Muggle-like clothing.

"That's right, yeah, and this guy's my godfather —"

"Sirius Black," said one of the male students, as the crowd stood and stared. Then, as quickly as they'd arrived to glimpse the pair, the group hurried off while eagerly chatting among one another... leaving Harry quite confused.

"You'd think they'd stay a while and chat, hmph."

Sirius laughed. "Don't take it personally, man. I think those were American students, probably from... er, what's that school's name, again? I know it starts with an 'I'."

Harry didn't much care; he already took offence at the come-and-go-like nature of these foreigners coming to stare at him. It felt as if Uncle Vernon's occasional remarks were true, back when he sat mocking the overseas news-reports on TV.

Minutes later, once they'd finally reached their campsite, Harry stopped in his tracks. A very familiar witch stood with her back facing them. She wore an elegant, sporty tracksuit top and trousers; both of which were partly covered by her waist-length, silvery blonde hair. It was Fleur Delacour, and she stood surveying the sign labelled 'BLACK' with great interest.

"Hey, girl, this spot's ours!" said Sirius, to which Fleur turned around and eyed the pair. "Don't think we'll give it up just because you're good-looking."

"Wait, I know this chick —" Harry felt his insides do a somersault as Fleur suddenly smiled, once her big blue eyes caught sight of him. "She's, er, one of Pansy Parkinson's cousin's schoolmates."

"Bonjour, little Monsieur! I 'ave a name, you know." Fleur huffed and crossed her arms. "Eet is ze French word for 'flower'."

Harry smiled; he'd been hoping to get a chance to say his little joke. "_Farine_? It's great to see you again!"

Fleur raised her brows and gave a 'really now?' expression. "So, ze little Potter theenks 'e is a comedian, 'mm? Vairy funny."

"I know I am, Farine."

"I don't get it," said Sirius, watching the pair with a perplexed look on his face. "And neither do I know much French — except for my stupid family motto."

Fleur tilted her head and walked past Harry and Sirius, to which the former hastily apologised. "OK, OK, I was just joking, _Fleur_."

After that, Fleur looked Harry up and down and smiled. "You didn't grow at all since we last met, but zat is OK. So, 'ow was your birthday? Did you get lots of presents? Make any new friends? Get lots of 'ugs and kisses?"

"You sure know how to pick your girlfriends, Harry," said Sirius, dumping their camping bag onto the ground. "And I'm still confused over her name."

"Meester Black, your godson thought 'e was funny in saying ze French word for 'flour' instead of 'flower'." Fleur saw the confused look on Sirius' face and rolled her big blue eyes. "One is made from grounded stuff like wheat, and the uzzer — my name — is ze beautiful one zat grows from seeds."

"Oh!" Sirius laughed while unpacking the tent. "Nice one, Harry!"

"So, what brings you here?" Harry asked Fleur, as they stood watching Sirius do some of the hard work in setting up the Black-campsite's tent. "Well, besides watching the World Cup, of course."

"Let us talk after 'elping your godfather set zings up, OK?"

And set things up they did, with all three of them gradually working the pegs and erecting the tent. There was nothing extraordinary about Harry and Sirius' one when viewed from the outside, unlike some of the other show-offs pitched around the campground.

"I've been 'ere since some of ze quarter-finals," said Fleur, standing beside the tent's entrance — with Harry. "Eet was fun watching ze Americans win against Romania, and Peru just about beat Transylvania. But Ireland's ze one team in ze final; zey seemply smashed Peru in ze semi-final. Oh, and I 'ad a slight suspicion zat you'd be camping 'ere."

"That's pretty obvious," said Sirius, "considering that I'm the last living Black around. I could introduce you to my deranged mother at my original, shithole of a home, if you'd like..."

Harry turned to look at Sirius. "She's a quarter-Veela, though..."

"Is zere a problem with zat?" Fleur looked quite taken aback. "I wasn't expecting _zat_ tone of derision from you, of all people, 'Arry Potter!"

Sirius smoothed things out immediately. "Oh no, don't get the wrong idea, girl! It's just that most of my family were very vocal about their discriminative beliefs. Harry's just concerned that you'll end up being screamed at by that crazy, irremovable portrait of my mother."

"I'd still like to visit your original home someday," said Harry, to which Sirius declined. "And what's with the temper, Fleur? I thought Alyssa said you don't care when people comment on your heritage?"

Fleur remained standing with her arms crossed. "I try not to care when _idiots _mock my ancestry, zat's what. Because it's almost expected of zem. Let's 'ave a look inside your tent, shall we? I'll bet eet isn't anywhere near as magnificent as mine."

Sirius' tent had pretty much the same, calming theme as his new place inside, although it only had one floor within. There were two toilets, a small dining room, and two bedrooms in here. That was it.

"Five out of ten I would say." Fleur surveyed each room, which were adjacent to the long hall opposite the front door. "But you two are sorely lacking sufficient decorations and niceness in 'ere — unless, of course, we put 'Arry on ze walls."

"Hey!"

Sirius slapped Harry on the back. "Take the compliment like a man." Then he whispered, "I guess this one likes you too."

Harry could swear that Fleur overheard that remark, but he played it cool nonetheless. "Shall we, er, go and fetch water or something? Sirius said it'd be fun to cook like Muggles out here."

"Yeah, I'll stay here on my own while you two go wandering around, or whatever." Sirius nudged Harry down the hall while whispering, "Reel 'em in!"

This only caused Harry to fidget with his fingers while walking beside Fleur outside. It felt quite strange to be so nervous, considering that he'd long since got over walking beside Pansy or Hermione.

"Eyes up and stop looking down while you walk," said Fleur, observing Harry as they left the almost secluded campsite. "You are going to walk into someone at zis rate — which would be vairy funny, of course."

Harry knew that Fleur knew he was likely nervous around her, which only increased his nervousness over the next few minutes. "Can I, um, meet your family?"

"No. Zere will be anuzzer time for zat later zis school year."

"What?"

Fleur gave him a quizzical look and gasped. "You don't know about zat? But, almost everyone in my family already does! Monsieur, I am one hundred per cent confident zat I will be chosen as part of ze upcoming tournament. Zen you can meet my family when zey pay a visit to your 'Ogwarts." She saw the lack of understanding on Harry's face and gave him a pitying sigh. "Promise me you will only tell your godfather, OK? Ze rest of your friends can find things out on zeir own, although Pansy already knows."

"Knows what?" Harry asked, as they carried on walking down another pathway... somewhere. He'd already raised his hood to conceal his identity, in order to avoid the foreign point-and-starers. "Yeah, keep me in the dark, sure."

"Zere is a vairy prestigious inter-school tournament 'appening later zis year: ze Triwizard Tournament. It will be Beauxbatons — and therefore, me — 'Ogwarts, and Durmstrang 'oo will be competing... with one participant selected from each. And no, you are — unfortunately — too young to enter, little Monsieur." She smiled and patted him on the back. "But, you can always betray your silly Champion, 'ooever they might be, and cheer for me instead. Zat sounds reasonable, yes?"

Harry felt rather fuzzy as Fleur bent over, about a foot down, to bring her face level with his. "No way. I'm supporting my school's Champion no matter what." And he couldn't help but smile as Fleur smiled.

"Good attitude, Meester fourth-year 'Arry." Fleur sniggered as Harry almost tripped over a stone. "Did I not tell you to keep zose eyes ahead?"

They carried on walking between a line of tents until, finally, coming across the tap in a corner of the field. To Harry's relief, the queue wasn't that long at all — and it soon dispersed in no time. "Let's fill 'em up and I'll put a Feather-Light Charm on them, OK?"

"No, no. It is good exercise to carry such weighted goods, 'Arry." Fleur joined him in filling up Sirius' kettles and saucepans. "So, I 'ear everyone is talking about zis Viktor Krum. Didn't I 'ear you once say you're a good Seeker yourself?"

"Damn right; I even brought my Firebolt with as well." Harry's face shone with anticipation. "I know it sounds silly, but, imagine if I could catch a few pointers from players like Krum! Too bad there's no way the Ministry would let us fly anything around here."

"Come now, 'Arry, I don't theenk ze American-Bulgarian game will be too long; definitely not ze allotted three days. Everyone is betting on Bulgaria reaching ze final in ze end, so maybe you can — somehow — get into ze stadium while Krum is practising? 'E obviously won't go all-out on you, just in case ze Irish are watching."

Harry's heart skipped a beat; the prospect of sneaking in a flying session with _Viktor Krum_, in the World Cup stadium itself, was simply unbelievable. "Yeah... I'll try that. Hope I don't get into any trouble, though."

"For what?" Fleur stopped Harry from spilling any more water, from the kettle, while walking. "'Ow about we try and find Meester Krum right now? After returning ze water, of course."

Once they returned to Sirius' campsite, Harry eagerly told of his plans to try and sneak in a practise session with Viktor Krum. Naturally, Sirius was one hundred per cent in support of anything which could benefit his godson, and the trio set off in no time. "Got your broom? Tent secured? Let's go! The Bulgarians aren't too far from us, thankfully."

Fleur saw the apprehensive look on Harry's face, as they walked upfield. "Stop worrying; this'll be lots of fun! And besides, zere is nuzzing to be ashamed about eef ze much more experienced Seeker outflies you. Zis'll make you better in your own upcoming matches, Meester."

Those large, deep blue eyes were so reassuring, so encouraging to Harry as he stared up at them. He was lost for words now, until a blast of wind whipped some of Fleur's silvery blonde hair right against his face. "Ow! You ought to tie all this up."

"Well, yours looks like eet is forever caught in ze wind, young Seeker." She chuckled. "Look at you, walking around with zat broom like an excited little child."

"He's got his dad's hair," said Sirius, and he snorted as the trio stood before a large patch of tents upfield. "You'd swear there's only one player on the entire Bulgarian team. Viktor Krum posters as far as the eye can see here!"

"Zere zey are! Zere zey are! Zere zey are!" Fleur was positively hopping on the soles of her shoes now. She appeared to have spotted something which made her act less like a seventh-year student, and more like an excited child. "'Arry, you must understand eef I go and talk to zem!"

"What? Who's the little child now, huh? You talking about the Bulgarian players?" Harry looked from an excited Fleur to a clearly confused Sirius. "What's her deal?"

"Don't look at me; she's your friend."

"Use zose nice eyes and look carefully!" Fleur grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck and pointed towards the middle section of the tents. "See zat beeg silvery glow zere? Zat is ze light of lots of full Veela, like my grandmuzzer! I would like to meet zem, for I am partly like zem, and I have a few cousins like zem."

Sirius scratched the back of his long hair. "Er, how many Veela are we talking about here?"

"About a 'undred, I theenk."

A lengthy whistle came from Sirius as he sat down upon a rock. "Harry, you're the one with a bit of Occlumency training, not to mention being thoroughly used to the company of females. I, um, don't think I'd cope well being so close to that amount of Veela. Hey, Flower-girl, if anything happens to my godson in there..."

"Oh, relax." Fleur grabbed Harry by the hand and led him towards the mass of Bulgarian tents up ahead, while Sirius sat at its outskirts. "Not every Veela is as kind as my grandmuzzer, just so you know, so don't be surprised eef some of zem make fun of me, or something. I 'ighly doubt it, though, considering zat many Veela would like to meet a decent wizard at some point in zeir lives."

"But you're not a wizard."

Fleur laughed. "Theenk a little further, 'Arry. I am what more zan a few Veela would like to see: good-looking, mixed offspring. But you do get a few 'oo frown upon such relations... I 'ope zere aren't many of zat sort 'ere." She shuddered. "And before you inevitably ask, full-Veela are all female."

Harry kept on walking beside Fleur as they passed many curious Bulgarian supporters. "I take it they have their own means of reproduction? What about mixed offspring who turn out to be males?"

"Zey would be good-looking too, yes, but we girls get ze Veela Charms and stuff. Even if, say, a part-Veela man and woman make a sort of 'full-Veela' child, it will not be a boy. Males can only come from when ze offspring isn't 'full-Veela'."

"Who are you? Irish or Western spies, maybe?" asked a male's voice from somewhere nearby.

Harry turned around to see a few red-robed Bulgarian supporters standing beside their tents. And although they had their wands at the ready, they were at least willing to consider Fleur's request.

"You vant to see the Veela? Vell, OK. But don't try looking around the players' tent or anything. Ve already caught one American trying his luck around here yesterday." One of the Bulgarian supporters cracked his knuckles. "Sent him running back in no time."

Soon, Harry and Fleur reached the brightly-lit centre of the tents — and both stopped to appreciate the sight. In Harry's case, he'd never seen a collection of such magnificent, extraordinary women before; and in Fleur's case, she was beaming with pride. "Bonjour, my full people!"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle as Fleur greeted and mingled with the puzzled group of Veela in their campsite. They were each quite tall and shone like the moon, and their gravity-defying hair were all white-gold in colour. Then, slowly but surely, the Veela realised that Fleur was partly of their own — and the conversation gradually became two-sided.

"Vot is all the loud talking about? Ve are trying to sleep back here!" One of the Bulgarian players — a tall, black-haired woman — emerged from her tent, and she immediately caught sight of Fleur. "I vosn't expecting a girl to go on like that vith the Veela!"

"She's... partly descended from a Veela herself," said Harry, and the female player immediately caught sight of his Firebolt. "Yeah, I was hoping to, um, practise with Viktor Krum."

"Surely you are joking?" The woman roared with laughter. "Viktor is the best player in the vorld, young fan-boy, but I can maybe persuade him to give an autograph, perhaps."

"Well, _I'm_ the best Seeker at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Harry smiled and lowered his hood. "And I survived the Killing Curse." This changed things, and the woman immediately returned to the large tent near the Veela's campsite. _Yeah, that's right, go and fetch your boy for the_ _Boy-Who-Lived__._

Minutes later, the entire Bulgarian team emerged from their tent while speaking in very fast, very excited tones — although Harry understood nary a word of what was said. And then, standing among the group of players was none other than Viktor Krum himself. His surly expression turned to curiosity as he darted his eyes to Harry's scar. "You came all this way to haff a practise session vith me, Harry Potter?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

Krum gave this a fair bit of thought before responding. "OK, ve can fly vith a practice-Snitch one hour after the next game is done. You vill be supporting Bulgaria, right?"

Harry nodded, and he soon rejoined a happy Fleur as they made their way back towards Sirius. "Why do I get the feeling you only came here for the Veela?"

Fleur smiled. "We both got what we wanted, didn't we? And besides, I wanted to check eef maybe someone zere could be related to my grandmuzzer, and zerefore me. But, no, I guess zey are all strangers. Nice ones, though." She took a deep breath and stopped. "'Arry, I want Bulgaria to win ze World Cup. I do not like ze arrogance of zose Irish and, especially, zeir leprechaun mascots."

Harry took his earlier thoughts back; it wasn't just Sirius' place that made this the best holidays ever. He was now determined to show that his father's talent could go toe-to-toe — or rather, broom-to-broom — against even the best of Seekers out here.

"You show 'em what James passed down to you," said Sirius, pep-talking Harry all the way back to their tent. "It's what he would've wanted, you know, to see his son get on the biggest stage of them all."

"Yes, 'Arry, and maybe you can give Meester Krum a good training session in ze lead-up to ze final. No disrespect to America, of course, but zeir Seeker ees just too weak to keep up with Krum."

"Come on, guys, let's not get ahead of ourselves." Harry couldn't stop smiling while walking. "One thing at a time, OK?"


End file.
